(Have I mentioned that prose scenes just pop into my head and I don't know why or how? This is another one like that. Enjoy?)
I took a deep breath before I knocked on her door. I could hear the passionate orchestra music through the door -- the CD she always plays when she's sad. The door opened and I could see the pain in her expression. She said nothing. I swallowed.
"I'm sorry." Still she said nothing. "I didn't lie."
She shifted her weight slightly to lean into her left hip. Her movements were always so graceful, I felt lost in watching her.
"I know." Her voice broke through, brought me back to focus. I looked up, but she was looking past me, the sadness replaced to an empty expression.
"I just…" I trailed off. There was no need to explain, she already knew. "I need you." I decided to change my course, try to get her back.
She uncrossed her arms and played with her rings, but she did not change her gaze. Looking beyond me, maybe to someplace happier.
"It's too late." Her voice was tired.
"If I could have another shot-"
"It's too late."
"If you'd take another chance-"
"It's too late." She closed her eyes, her hands were still.
"I will hold on, I will wait."
In one graceful movement she stood back, inside her apartment again. "It's too late." She closed the door.
I stood a long time, my fingertips resting gently on the doorknob. I wondered what she had seen when she looked past me. Maybe, if I could understand that, I could get her back.