They accidentaly meet at her home.
They talk, they tell stories, they joke. They taunt each other.
Queen & lots of 80's & 90's. Beer. Cigarettes. Some cherries they stole from neighbourhood: she stood on his shoulders; all water fell on his head. It had been raining.
Her head hurts. He massages it. TV. Long, deep eye contacts. He admits her eyes did not change at all. She will never know what he meant. She will just spend minutes in front of the mirror.
He carelessly pushes her on the couch. He clumsily jumps in her arms and lays his head on her chest.
They revive old memories from their former relationship. Kisses. Sunrise. Cold air. A broken glass.
They sleep in each other's arms for one last time. Or barely sleep at all.
They do not tell 'I love you!'. Do they?
Morning passes. She prepares him breakfast and coffee, like she would always do. Then she starts packing - she's gonna leave.
He carries her baggage, pays her cab and stays by her side as she's waiting for the bus.
And there he goes. She missed him. He will never seek her again; he never did by then. Nor will she.
...or ask him if he's still in love with her. Or if he ever was.
She will just live, love and let live.
Pride conquers everything. Then destroys everything.
Such a (LONG) pretty story!