He knew her. He knew her secrets, and every single lie and mistake in her life. He knew her flaws, all her insecurities and how she was perfectly imperfect. He knew her fears of heights and her love for hiking. He knew her pain and all its reasons. He knew her scars and all the stories behind each, in details. He knew her mind, her inner voices and heart stitches. He knew the places of her scar-less wounds, inch by inch. He knew her current bruises and the ones which faded away. He knew every hickey she had from random guys before him, and he gave her more. He knew her very special birthmark on her lower part of her chest; he blew her many kisses over it before. He knew the heat of her body, with all of its temperatures and levels. He knew when she felt breathless before she could even feel her chest pains. He knew when she was going to cry before the tears even reached her eyes. He knew her favorite songs by The XX and The Fray, and the chorus she loved the most. He repeated them for her; she’d never get bored. He knew she had a celebrity crush on Isaac Slade and cracked senseless jokes about him.
He knew she loves donuts, but he still knew it when she craves cupcakes more. He knew it when she is into talking and when is into silence. He knew what her head can’t speak out, and he spoke it out for her instead. He knew her hands, fingers’ sizes and nails. He knew her fingerprints and the scar on her left index finger from her childhood when she accidently shut it in the door. He knew her lips and traced them with each finger of his. He kissed them every time his eyes met hers, and all the other times as well. He knew her fake smile, her happy smile, her “I’m fine” smile and “I love you” one. He knew that Khalid Hosseini and Charles Bukowski are her favourite authors, and that Alaska Gold and Edgar Allan Poe are her favourite poets. He knew her favourite lines from books and never got bored of reading them out loud for her. He knew her favourite place to hang out at, anywhere simple where food is usually unclean and inedible. They would spend the whole time ruining it and end up eating like Pigs at Mcdonald’s. He knew how she loved Big Tasty for its grilled meat, and McRoyal for its sauce. He knew how she finishes the fries first and then the sandwich. He knew she hated taking pictures and took way too many pictures of all her facial expressions. He knew everything, which she didn’t even know about herself. He knew the right time to call or text, and the perfect time to hold her and give her a hug.
He knew she hated fancy stuff and fashion. He gave her all his shirts where there perfumes’ scents blended together compromising the scent of their love. He knew her skin color and how it smelled like Warm Vanilla Sugar. He knew all her curves and every inch of her body; he traced them. He knew the pinkish scar on her left breast, and ears' piercings; two in the right and the third in the latter. He knew how she hated her pinky toe and tickled her every time she freaked out about how weird and tiny it looked.
He knew how she was scared to lose him and how she was more scared because she loved him. He knew her world and its every corner. He knew how she loved architectural photography, took her to many places to let her take pictures. He knew it she loves painting depending on her mood, and gave her a 2B pencil and a paper she’s sad. He knew how she loved sadness and he drowned himself with her there too. He knew her mood swings, every weird one and managed to swing with her, even during her “fuck off” one due to her monthly period. He knew it when she’s PMSing and when she’s just mad at everything- for no apparent reason. He knew she was a smoker and wished she would stop, yet he managed to smoke with her. He knew she loved smoking with him as he reads his cheesy love poems for her. He knew she hated Camel’s brand and loved Marlboro Gold more. He knew she preferred to light a cigarette with a match than a lighter; he used to do it for her because she didn’t know how.
He knew her thoughts like she was speaking them for him when she only stared in silence. He knew how she loved silence and took her on a silent cheap date on Valentine ’s Day; It was a good day. He knew when to touch her and when to not dare. He knew when she was okay and when she pretended to be. He knew her voice, and would distinguish between it and anyone else’s. He knew she gave him everything she had.
He knew her when no one else did, not even herself.
He knew everything and all,
He knew her every bits and pieces.
And he left.
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