The Thing That Kills Love Most Is Time

Thought Catalog

They were sensible people. They booked two aisle seats in the same row of the plane. They didn’t need to be squished up against one another to be together. There was no urgency. There was plenty of time. 

He wore an ironed button up underneath a navy sweater, and all I could see around the back of the seat in front of me was her sandy blonde hair and the silver ring on her left hand as she leaned across to offer him half of the peanut butter sandwich she packed. He read the theater reviews in the Times, taking his glasses on and off, trying to make out the small print. They talked about a show they were hoping to catch in a few weeks, and she admitted to always having a platonic crush on some actor or playwright or someone who didn’t matter as much as the man…

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