She kind of figures she couldn't just let the silence hang. But there was nothing there other than the way he said her name. As if it held some weight in this world, as if maybe somehow she meant a thing to someone.
And she can't quite get his praise out of her head, all the lost embraces start to fill her with dread. She watches his only broken promise over and over again as if it's an elephant in the room. A white elephant, a joke, a prelude to a gift, but instead of laughing she waits for the gift, a growing rift between the person who is no longer hear and the way she feels. A gap she cannot cross ever again. She cannot pretend that she isn't waiting for her life to end. She cannot pretend she doesn't know that she's dying of a dreamer's disease.
Her doctor's say that there's no explanation a girl of her health should have a failing heart, and she wonders if she has one but she knows, because she's seen it.
She knew your history, and it was no mystery that you would leave. She spent her time waiting. Waiting. She wasted all of her time just waiting, waiting for a call, a letter, some sign you were alive. She called your ex-girlfriend.
"Yeah," she said, "I know you. He talked about you."
She hung up the phone. Sometimes the farthest distance is the distance between two people.