96 hours after

She had dreamt of this somewhat mundane but extraordinary moment a million times. She could see him from across the road at the bus station and feel something like a knot in her heart. Like as if after aeons she was completely conscious of herself breathing. It was strange. Strangely uncomfortable deciding whether or not to walk up to him, to hold him in her arms, to tell him that it might sound absolutely retarded but she missed him. That each of the past 96 hours she had slowly counted seconds and minutes when she could touch his skin and somehow pass this sense of unrest and turmoil through the fine pores she would feel against her fingers. Odd then that she still had that quickened pulse and fervour as she stood across the road. She wasn't sure if this was excitement or apprehension. The more she stayed away from him, the more she know she couldn't much longer. She wondered how that moment would be. She wondered if their bodies will flow into each other's as naturally as water or if they would share the unsaid magnetism of strangers again.

She waited until anticipation got the better of her. And then she turned and walked away. She had needed this moment to completely comprehend. That she was dead now.