She was the one who had let go, the one who had consented to let slip past her fingers (which, she remembered expressionlessly, were thinner than his- but of course they were-) the happiness that had once been hers. She had wondered why it took her so long to let it go, even when the logical course of action had seemed so clear. Where she had been so happy to search for excuses and grabbed hold of reasons to fling others away in the past, she had found herself clinging on instead to those legitimate reasons and trying her best to convince herself with them in order to force her fingers to let this one go. She could not understand why she had been so unwilling to, and it was only after she had successfully cleared the obstacle that she recognised the emptiness as the absence of the mutual understanding, companionship and- almost- love- and all the possibilities that they could have had growing together.

But there was no turning back for this one. Perhaps she had known it as well, and as such feared to let go of what she could not ever get a hold of again.

It may have been the right decision in the long term. It probably was. But that didn't mean that it didn't strip her away of her happiness anyway, took away the bubbling purpose but not the confusion.

And it was then that she began to live for him, it was then that Emerly Sanders decided to live silently with the purpose of being what he might have loved to see if only they had still been walking together, fingers interlocked, the breaths of fresh kisses still glazed over their lips.