How She Gets By


She would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, replaying those tiny vivid images in her head, or most often than not, conceiving things that were far from her known reality. She would create that whimsical story where he is the protagonist and she was his muse. It would be a story like no other, blissful but at the same time sentimental, serene and vague but all in all lucid. It would be just him and her, leaving the world to revolve and go on without them, distant in the far-flung corner of her mind. And she would do this almost always every night, or until she could finally feel something apart from aching, for this is how she gets by.

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