In their first, the timing was all wrong in the dilapidated stairway of a narrow frat house. She was pledged to another yet that did not stop him from confessing his love to her tears. How could there be tears missing what never happened? The second time the timing was right but the people had changed. His heart was hardened and he wore a smile for accessory. In the dance floor crowded with people seeking and calling out, their eyes found one another amongst the many shots fired and missed.
“You looked so sad.” His simple, whispered words are ones she would remember until the day everything turned to stardust and even beyond that.
The third time was the final and also the story for a story is both a beginning and the end. The third time, she trekked to him, moth to the flame, giving up more than she knew before she even knocked on that door.
The air inside the railroad compartment was drier than the summers of the Colorado Plateau, where sweeping dust storms were the common courtesy at noon. The young man in the ill-fitting suit loosened his tie for the tenth time in the past hour, refusing eye contact with the many curious onlookers.