Never said.

 

 

                        He never told her.

 

Not even when they lay together in their softly lit room, both so tightly wrapped in each other’s arms, that he almost felt like he could breath for her.

 

Not even when he looked at her and felt his heart beating hard against his chest, or his breath stilling, or his eyes drifting to the soft curve between her neck and shoulder.

 

Not even when he saw her crying, pleading with him to tell her. Begging him to say the words she needed to hear.

 

Not even when he saw her packing her things mechanically, and turned to him when she was done to run her fingers through his blonde and slightly spiky hair.

 

Not even in the end, when he looked into her eyes and saw that she was still pleading for him to say it.

 

Even when he watched the back of her car as she disappeared, he never said a word.

 

Because he didn’t love her.

 

…

 

 

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