C’est le temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui fait ta rose si importante.
– Le Petit Prince
He stayed so still on his side of the bed– well, his side of her bed– that she wasn’t sure without looking that he was even there at all. She turned her bare shoulders toward him and picked up a hand to run circles across his chest. “What are you thinking about?” She asked. She didn’t have to wonder. They both knew that they weren’t the other’s destination. However warm they’d feel–tonight–wrapped up in all this love that they felt for someone else, it would never be enough.
“I used to think I was the jealous type…” he started, trailing off. No, maybe that’s not the right word. He started again. “I didn’t understand that you don’t get to own the people you love. They have to choose, every day, to be with you. And she stopped choosing me.”