Broken

morotcycle

A sudden wave of nausea washed over her once she realized he was back. His motorcycle, shining bright against the summer sun was a beacon of despair and Cora could do nothing but freeze, mesmerized by its pull. They’d only shared a single summer, but sometimes, summer loves have the strongest pull.

She knew it was his bike by the sticker. Two helmets hung from the handlebars, a sure sign that he was off enjoying a new conquest while she still struggled to deal with the pain nearly ten months later. He’d told her so many things and promised so many new beginnings. Theirs had been a love built upon lazy summer days, cool white sheets, and bottles of whiskey. Days blurred together, becoming one long, hazy memory of bliss.

He’d left suddenly, off with the sunrise. She awoke to his warmth and cologne still clinging to the sheets, the oak fan spinning lazily overhead as flies buzzed near the open windows. Gone forever. No explanations, no apologies, just the piece of her heart he’d been given lying beaten and broken on the nightstand. At least he’d had the decency to leave it behind, even if she had no idea how to piece it back together.

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