Dearest,

The sadness dripped from her lips.  It filled her up, threatening to re-break her long-healed collarbone.  Everything was a blur, cars whizzing past a lonely girl sitting at the edge of a freeway.  She didn't know what to do, her heart, not her head, told her.  It whispered in her sadness-blurred ear, telling her.  Just call. Just call. Just call.  She followed the instructions half-halfheartedly, slow as molasses in the winter, it seemed nothing could heal her.  The hello on the other side of the cellular call told her where reality was, it was not in her head.  She poured it all out to the listening ear.  She told every teeny, insignificant detail.  When the listening and talking was over, a fairly great amount of restless time later, a pond of the sadness was gone.  A meeting of sorts was planned, and goodbyes and farewells were bid.  The appropriate time crawled towards the now-time and met them at the place.  It is their place now, the special one.  She saw him in the distance, the listening ear personified after weeks of just knowledge of existence.  She ran, she ran full out, every step took an eternity.  She ran to him, and jumped in his arms, he just held her.  He held her tied as liquid sadness poured out of her eyes.  He held her tight as  liquid happiness poured out of her eyes.  He just held her.