Fifteen

Every once in a while, you suffer through fifteen minutes of overwhelming sadness. You sift through every fond memory you hold. Your heart swells with affection, you’re willing to forget all the bad things that conspired, just so you could have the good. Just a hint, just a splash. Just something to remind you of the good days gone by. Your breathing starts to quicken, your heart constricts and tears well up in your eyes of their own volition. You lie awake, aching, thinking of all the ways you could apologise, if the other person is hurting just as much. You wonder if it was your fault, you wonder if it even matters. You convince yourself that you’re too mature for this kind of petty  fights, you convince yourself that you can be the bigger person. You slip up and send the text, you slip up and take a look at photos and saved text messages. You slip up, and fool yourself into thinking that all it takes is one call to fix everything, to clear everything up. You hold back. You cry. You blink. You survive the fifteen minutes. Everything’s back to normal and you sigh, dreading the next time these ephemeral fifteen minutes come again.

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