Author’s Note: When a fellow writer asked for 365 days worth of prompts, I decided to use some of the stuff that I’ve been influenced by or thought about writing something for. This song was one of those influences. I figured that I should use my own prompts as well. It’ll be interesting to see how one set of lyrics influences two different people.

I gave only one section of lyrics as a prompt, but me, of course, I ended up using in a lot more than that by looking at the lyrics again and listening to the song on repeat.

I recommend hopping over to the Kabobbles Sing Along section and using the embed or looking up the song and playing it while reading, but that’s me.

She knew she wouldn’t see the sun today—the clouds were in the way, blocking it and showering rain on the ground. Perhaps somewhere else it was snowing, burying the world under a blanket of cold, keeping the weary winter months upon them. Her hand went to window, knowing it was another day where she would remain indoors, a day wasted, nothing accomplished, not with those clouds in the way.

If there was a moment when it all went wrong, she couldn’t find it, not in her memories or her notes. She has been over them—in dreams and nightmares and repeated readings, searching through old journals and conversations for that missing piece that would explain it all.

She walked away before, she was the one to say it was over and done, so why was it so hard for her to understand his doing so? Why could her decisions make perfect sense when his made none?

Not that she hadn’t changed. Everyone said she was different, and she supposed that they were right. They saw what she didn’t, knew what she didn’t. Even after all this time had passed, years spent growing older that were supposed to make her grow wiser, she didn’t feel like she knew anything at all.

Love, of course, remained the most elusive concept of any in the world, coming in to tease her with illusions of happiness and forever—not forgetting that she had once done the same dance for others, that carrot on a stick that she hadn’t realized was a trick, not until she was gone and on the other end of it.

When was love ever real? When it lasted or when it crashed and burned?

Her head joined her hand against the window pane. He was far away, long since gone, and he would never hear her, even if the clouds and the rain weren’t in the way. Still, her lips moved of their own volition, whispering the words she didn’t want to say. “I love you.”