callous, originally uploaded by Cronopio Snowstone.

generously written by guest blogger: cronopio

She had turned his back on him now, in every sense of the phrase. The michievous smirk on his face, as he wolfed down the last of his ice cream cone, leaning against the wall, would be the last image she would remember of him. The same boyish crudeness that had once charmed her, so many years ago, now only disgusted her. She would walk away now, and he would call after her, call her name so that everyone on the busy Paris street could hear it, but she would ignore him and he would not take the trouble to walk after her. He would go home (in his own time), convinced she'd be there waiting for him, and apologizing as usual, without knowing what for.

But this time, he would be wrong; the house would be emptied of her stuff. She would not have gone 'home to mother' but vanished, out of sight. She'd spend the first few nights in a seedy fleabag hotel, partly out of necessity, partly to punish herself for holding on to him for so long. Then she would get back on her feet, find a small apartment in an _arrondissement_ far away from their current place, where she could start a new life without anything reminding her of him. She would miss the pizza place down the street, the baker's across the square, and the girls she used to chat with in the laundrette. But she would not miss him. It was over.

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