AN IMPERFECT MATCH

He loved the way she slept. “How is that even possible”, he would ask himself? But it was…and he did. He loved everything about the time they spent together, the way his hand fit in hers, the way she laughed when he was being silly, and how she knew his response to something before it even happened. Familiarity can often be a buzz kill, but with her, it was a turn on. It was sexy to them the comfortableness of the space they shared, the coziness of their stare. He loved how when they went to the movies, after each trailer they would look at each other and shake their head yes or no, always on the same page. It was their thing, and although minuscule, he hoped she shared that with no one else. As they lay in bed she turns to her side and lets out a pout, arching her back. A tell-tale sign that she wanted a back rub. Which of course she knew she would get, as he always obliged. Lying there, rubbing her back, kissing her shoulder, deep in the midst of pure intimacy, the picture perfect couple laid. But they weren't perfect, nor a couple. More so a shadow of their former selves, an echo of their past love. Every kiss he gave her he dreamed of what they could be, and every kiss she received reminded her of what they once were. Always in the same book, but never on the same page, as if she was reading forwards while he read backwards, unable to see the future. Intentionally no doubt, as he sensed that his character would eventually be killed off or cast away. No they walked similar paths, to the same beat, and in perfect rhythmic unison...just on separate roads. Close enough so that they could see each other, mirror each other, reach for each other, but never touch. A perfect pair... and an imperfect match. 




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