#108

it's been years, she thought. years! maybe it's unconventional, but is it conventional that he's really the only person i want to talk to lately?
she typed out a letter. it was short, funny but not overwhelmingly. she didn't edit a word. pretense never escaped him anyway. no explicit, "how are you, what are you up to lately, we haven't talked in so long". just the conversation, where they left it off that night when she desperately threw her arms around his neck and his arms hung decidedly, achingly, unwaveringly at his sides.
she had asked him that night if he was still even a little bit in love with her.
three long strides toward the door and then he turned. "call anytime."