many months and lots of blank pages later, i realized he was right.
It happened once, suddenly, in too many small-sized minutes, and large-stepped walking. it was cold, the cake the terrible, but it was a joyous occasion. he told her his preference, but that the choice was ultimately hers. she had the ability to laugh off things, you see, thus stalling time and necessary conversations. it was all about the moment, the short-term laughter, the instantly sleepless nights. cookies and candy. this or that.
he sits alone (not by choice, of course), caressing the spot where she once lay, his guitar making rhythms from his sorrows. he knows not when he'll see her again, that's just how things had been made, but he hopes it's soon. like, in the next 50 seconds. that would be nice. he would have a reason to shave again.
[while each is busy with their selves and then some, she disappears from rooms full of happy people. just like that.]