Crazy

I’m crazy, crazy for feeling so blue 

Crazy, I’m crazy for feeling so lonely 

I know you loved me as long as you wanted 

And then some day you’d leave me 

For somebody new 

Crazy, Jess Sharon 

The song drifted through the air, the haunting melody wrapping around her like an unwelcome embrace. Jess Sharon’s Crazy seemed to mock her, its aching notes syncing all too well with the ache in her chest. She traced the rim of her glass with her finger, eyes staring blankly at the whiskey’s amber depths as if it held the answers she so desperately sought.

It was then that she saw him. At first, it was just the curve of his shoulder, the tilt of his head—the posture unmistakable even after all this time. Her breath caught in her throat as he turned slightly, his face lit up with a smile she once knew better than her own.

And then her heart clenched as her gaze shifted to the woman sitting across from him.

She was beautiful, effortlessly so, with long, dark hair that cascaded like black velvet across her shoulders. Her laughter was soft, lilting, as she leaned in closer to him. Their hands intertwined across the table, fingers brushing in a way that spoke of a love so easy, so natural, it left no room for doubt. They were in their own world, oblivious to the quiet agony unravelling just a few tables away.

She swallowed hard, the sting in her eyes a warning she refused to heed. The whiskey burned her throat as she took a large sip, but it couldn’t dull the sharper burn of memory.

They had once been like that.

She closed her eyes, and the bar disappeared, replaced by the warmth of a summer evening. She could still see him, younger, happier, leaning against his beat-up old car with that boyish grin that made her heart race. “Come on,” he’d said, his voice teasing. “Let’s get lost tonight.”

And they had. They’d driven for hours down roads that seemed to stretch into forever, the wind tangling her hair as they laughed and sang off-key to songs that belonged to no one but them. He’d held her hand as though letting go would mean losing her to the stars above.

But somewhere along the way, the laughter had faded. The songs grew quieter. The roads they travelled became ones of silence and misunderstandings. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment it all began to crumble—the first time his smile felt forced or her words seemed to fall into an unbridgeable void. Maybe it was when their dreams started pulling them in opposite directions, his toward a city skyline and hers toward a simpler, steadier life.

“We’ll figure it out,” he’d said one night, his voice heavy with the weight of promises he couldn’t keep. She had nodded, pretending to believe him. But deep down, she knew. They were running on borrowed time.

Her eyes flickered open, pulling her back to the present. Across the bar, he leaned in to tuck a strand of hair behind his new love’s ear, the gesture so intimate it felt like a knife twisting in her chest. She looked away, unable to bear the sight of something so familiar now belonging to someone else.

She clenched her fists, trying to suppress the flood of emotion threatening to consume her. Anger at herself for still feeling this way. Sadness for what they’d lost. And an aching loneliness that seemed to stretch out endlessly, echoing the song still playing in the background.

And then she thought of the last time they’d seen each other. He’d stood in her doorway, a suitcase in hand, his eyes full of a sorrow she couldn’t erase. “I love you,” he’d whispered, the words trembling with all the things they couldn’t fix. She had wanted to tell him to stay, to fight for what they had. But instead, she’d stepped back, letting him walk out of her life.

Was it pride? Was it fear? Or was it just inevitable?

Tears threatened to spill as she stared at the couple again. But this time, she didn’t look away. Instead, she let herself feel it all—the heartbreak, the longing, the bittersweet beauty of what once was. Because no matter how much it hurt, those memories were hers. He had been hers, if only for a moment in time.

The song changed, its final note lingering in the air like a ghost. She finished her drink, the warmth spreading through her chest, dulling the edges of her pain. With a deep breath, she stood, smoothing her coat as she prepared to leave.

As she walked past their table, he looked up. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, it was just them. No new love. No past regrets. Just two people who had once shared everything. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod—a silent acknowledgment of what they’d had, what they’d lost.

She nodded back, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. And then she walked out into the winter night, the cold air biting at her cheeks as tears finally spilled over.

But with each step she took, the ache in her chest began to ease. She realized that letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean erasing the love they’d shared or denying the pain of its loss. It simply meant making peace with the fact that some people are meant to stay, while others are meant to teach you how to move on.

And as she disappeared into the snowy streets, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time: hope.

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