Natalie had never been the yearning type. She didn’t pine after girls. If a breakup happened, she smoked some weed, and moved on.

But of course, you were her exception. Because you had been the exception for everything.

The relationship was most certainly doomed from the start, considering how quickly you both became attached to the other. Fast forward to 300 takeout coffees before parting ways to her soccer practice and your part time job, things started to downslide.

Natalie had never been a good communicator, preferring to keep her distance. If she was feeling something, you’d be the last to know—not that anyone would be the first. A few months in, she became withdrawn.

You tried your hardest to remedy the situation, and Natalie had been aware of that; but she just didn’t know how to make it work—once the flight had flown, Natalie slept all alone, but you still wouldn’t just go.

You started to think of doing drastic things, just to see her come running to you—giving you an ounce of attention.

You would start envisioning her profile and her smile on unsuspecting strangers at the coffee shop—Natalie began to search for something greater within the confines of a new girl’s room.

Natalie couldn’t help but wonder if it had been over then; the night a new girl kicked back on your couch, she let some boy at a party mess with the top button of her blouse while wondering where you were.

The fight that had followed the previous morning between the two of you was what ended it all. You screamed calling her a lying traitor, Natalie scoffed in your face, because you were one too.

Natalie still couldn’t help but wonder if it was really over now, when you were everywhere. She felt like she couldn’t breathe when she caught a glimpse of you and your new girl under flashing lights—her exact clone, practically—at a party.

God, at least Natalie had the decency to keep her infidelities a secret. Here you were, parading around a copycat version of her. Alcohol got the best of her, and she approached you.