Uncharted

Without a doubt, it is new territory for her. The circumstance is the same; the specifics, not so much. She is used to heartache and heartbreak, but not quite the strange mixture of relief and pain, of reflection and prediction. She doesn’t quite know how to handle her changing feelings, so she insists on not changing any unnecessary facets of her situation, of her changed relationship with him. The couple has split. The friendship has not.

They communicate like the couple they once were. They talk about everything and nothing for hours and hours on end. She is simply his friend and nothing more. As she examines her situation, their situation, she finds it hard to believe they are no longer a couple. They act the same; they talk the same; they flirt the same; they are the same. A couple is only a couple by name.

She giggles at his lame pun while the others in the room roll their eyes at his mundane nature. She is drawn to that one boy. There is some type of gravitational pull he has on her, and she cannot get away. She doesn’t want to. She wants to be pulled in all over again by the same nerdy charms that enchanted her only weeks ago.

She realizes it’s over. She realizes, by name, they are not a couple. But with his unintentional charm and his obvious reciprocated feelings, she is perfectly fine with that. She has no broken heart. She has no tears to dry from her young and fragile face.

Beautifully enough, she is not broken. She is whole on her own with him in her view.