Under that snow filled sky, the two storm in opposite directions. Just minutes before they had lashed out at each other with words sharp as razors, leaving the two lovers wounded and lost on an empty dark street. With some muttered last words they turned from each other, they each walked away- away from their home together, away from a failed love. He, with his pride gone, walked in the direction that guaranteed a break from this madness. She, feeling cold and empty, walked in the direction of hope. Two with different agendas, but bearing the same loss, walked in the direction that would most hurt the other.

As he rounded the next corner, the bar came within sight. In a matter of minutes, he was there. Inside and out of the cold that held those torturing memories, he started to feel as if his pride may still be intact. He took off his heavy black coat, dusted in snow and hung it on the overfull coat rack. This made sense – it was eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. He pushed and shoved his way to the bar and, after a few minutes of scouting, he found an empty seat.

Tears fell from her eyes and seemed to freeze on her checks as she walked. She looked over at the street sign she was passing, “Walker” it read. How ironic she thought. Only half a mile more though and she would be there, there at her safe zone. She hadn’t texted him that she was coming, but she never did. All she had to do was pray, during this last leg of her journey, that he was there and not “busy”. But she didn’t worry about this. He was always there and always alone when something like this happened to her, a “sixth sense” as she liked to think of it.

Three shots later of that hot fire from the tall bottle and he himself was on fire. Burning from the inside, burning from it all. God how he hated this. The drive to drink, all because of a fight. How he hated the world, burned in his eyes.

She was finally there with him. The one who mended it all. The one who listened and wanted her. The one she thought she should have been with all along. But if she was, would this relationship turn out like all the rest? A home filled with hate and no passion? Maybe it was time to find out.

The bar was all that held him up now. What had held his father up for twenty years, but had failed in the end. But this was his revenge.

In his arms, feeling whole, she finally knew where she belonged and she smiled. For she was not after revenge, but here to find a happy end.
Two lovers, a mile apart. Two lovers, lovers no more