It was a rainy and dark day in the middle of Fall, Elliot was struggling with fact that he had lost her, that he would never have her in his arms again, and so he spent his afternoon at the square, sitting on a old, wet wooden bench, looking at the falling leaves, the dead aura around him, wishing he, too, was dead, but never considering suicide, for he was not that kind of man.
He thought, as time warped in front of him, that she was indeed a very infuriating person mostly (as many of his friends said countless times, annoyed by her and how clingy she was), but he was happy with her, he endured it as much as he could, fond of how she always talked about their plans of someday living together in an ugly, cramped apartment that at least would be theirs.
People walked by, none noticing him, he not noticing them, and he thought about the many years they spent together, of how they were both first lovers, of how fun it was to be with her in all those great moments, of how he cried when she first attempted to kill herself and he saved her, it was always him that kept her in line, for she was such an unstable person, so pessimistic about herself, and would have died way back had they not found each other. He never told her that they met in the day he decided to jump of a bridge.
It was getting darker and still he stood there, legs covered in leaves, some of the few that still roamed the area pointing and sometimes laughing at how stupid he looked, but in his mind was only the song she once decided to be their song, a song whose author ironically made another about loss. He grew tired and got off the bench, hands tucked on his pockets while walking to the other side of the place.
He got to the sidewalk and stopped, in front of him a car, the red car that he hated the most.
The car of the man who was with his girl. "Fuck that guy" he thought as he went to the bar.