No. He did not love her. Oh no, she did not love him. Everything is simple. Simple as that.
But none of them have ever told that to each other. Until yesterday when he told her: 'you know, the problem is that I do not love you'. 'Do not love you, do not love, you, you, you'- just like an echo crossed her ears. He does not love her. He did not love her.
Everything should have been easy. Easier. Somehow. Now she sits on the couch and tears are rolling through her cheeks. They are burning them. It has been months since she cried. It somehow feels different.
Oh no, she did not love him.
But...
But somehow she got used to be with him. She got used to be surrounded by this calmness. By his calmness. She got used to and this is why it hurts now. It hurts. A little bit too much. It burns. A little bit too damn much.
Even though she smiles, because of her smile the heart is tearing apart. Is splitting in two. Is cracking, bleeding and hurts. So much. Because of this smile it is cold. Like during the winter: without shoes and scarf. It is freezing and she has no idea where she should go, because whenever she goes, she can feel it.
He already had died for her. He is dead now.