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7:00 pm : “Trin trin. Trin trin. Trin trin. Why wouldn’t she pick up the goddamn phone?”

The words scribbled on paper don’t always have a meaning. Or so she thought when she’d put it to flames.

There’s a meaning in every action, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. Or so he thought when he first laid his eyes on her.

7:15 pm : “Trin trin. Trin trin. Trin trin.” “Oh hey ! Hello. Yes. Yes. I remember, 8 o’clock. I’ll be there”

There is a way peculiar to every life. There is an inherent subtlety in achieving magnificence. There was a method to her madness.

Nothing is over till you believe it’s over. Making something disappear is tough, tougher is bringing it back. For every magic trick has a third act. “The prestige”. And what is love if not magic, or so he thought when he decided to meet her one last time.

Letting go is difficult. All the more is letting go when the going has been a cluster of unfulfilled desires. For she had been too afraid to touch. Too afraid she’ll like too much.

Only unfulfilled love can be that romantic. He had to end this. It will all be cleared out. He had to see her one last time.

7:30 pm. “Trin trin. Trin trin. Trin trin.” “Hey yeah. I was just leaving. Oh, you’ll be late by half an hour. No problem. I’ll leave accordingly. See you later.”

There’s a meaning in every action, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. WHAM! He was gone before he realized the bus hit him.

Letting go is difficult. All the more is letting go when the going has been a cluster of unfulfilled desires. Was it her phone call that conspired everything? She’ll never know. The butterfly beside her fluttered her wings again. She saw the time. It was 8:15.

 

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