Bittersweet

I’m bitter and you’re sweet… We make life bittersweet…

We met at the local library, him and I. That day I looked like a total know-it-all. I sat on the couch facing his table. He was writing something fast and he had passion in his eyes. I wasn’t that comfortable on the couch so I sat next to him. We exchanged looks and then books. I guess it was our little way of communicating in silence. He was reading The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris and I was reading Tell Me Your Dreams by Sidney Sheldon. I smiled at him and returned his book, he smiled back at me (his eyes were glittering behind his glasses).

Libraries are meant to be silent, it isn’t some school rule… Nobody likes reading a page again and again… but for some reason, even though the library was suffocating in silence… every time he gazed at me over his book… everything was too loud. I must’ve read that page three times.

It must’ve been hours… He closed his book and took a deep breath. That deep breath had so many feelings in it that I almost felt it’s contagious sadness of letting go… It’s hard to finish a great book. It’s like saying goodbye to your dead goldfish.

He stuffed his books in his bag and stood up, glanced at me one last time and smiled. Just after he took two steps away from me, I threw my book on the floor. He turned around and picked up my book. I was half ashamed and half regretful about what I did. He smiled and said, “How bad can the ending be?”…

As bad as the way you left…

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