She never meant to belittle what she had with Patrick. Oh, Patrick. Handsome, intelligent, sweet, kind, generous Patrick. He was a pediatrician for crying out loud! What girl doesn’t want to be with the hero who magically heals scraped knees with snoopy bandages and bear hugs? But he was just…Patrick. Nice Patrick. Good guy Patrick. Boring Patrick. Patrick the stand in. A stand in for what exactly, she wasn’t sure of. She just knew there had to be more. So she lived her life with Patrick, waiting for that something to strike. They moved in together, got a puppy, and he, as anybody who spends time around her is bound to do, fell in love with the blonde. Spencer felt guilty a lot in the beginning, putting on this charade for a genuinely nice guy, but then she realized something; Pat knew he was a stand in, and he was okay with that. She knew he was hoping that eventually her feelings would develop into more, and as much as she tried to tell him that wouldn’t happen, he wouldn’t hear of it. So they went on. Day after day. Summer to Fall. Puppy to Dog. Apartment to Condo. Newness to routine.

The only reason Patrick came to her mind these days is because it was him that brought Ashley to her in the first place. At least he was good for something. Only God knew that that fall day, almost one year ago exactly, when Patrick just insisted on them taking a trip out to the mountains with an old college buddy and his girlfriend to “reconnect” and be surrounded by scenery instead of skyscrapers, would be the day Spencer would meet the love of her life.

But right now, Spencer’s here. Sitting in her swing, so hunched over and sadly innocent that a passer-by might have mistaken her for a lost child. And Spencer was lost, moreso than any child could be.

So Spencer sits, watching her toes, waiting to see what they will draw this time. And when she sees a barely recognizable, but undoubtably there ‘I <3 YOU’ formed in the dirt, in her life, in her past, in her memories, in her everything, she stops. Then she flexes her knees, watching the muscles in her calves alter with every movement, pushes off the ground with all the strength left in her torn body, and between flights, skids her feet over the ground, erasing her declaration of love. She watches the ground, watches her soul, left naked and bruised on that dirt, disappearing with each swing. And with each swing, one more tear drops until the ground is black and pure once again, the seat slows down to a still, and she is sobbing.