It had been six months since Maya left for Chicago. Six months of silence, except for the occasional "like" on a photo—a digital breadcrumb that led nowhere.
The sting wasn't that she was gone; it was how easily she seemed to have packed him away. He didn't want her back in the "ruin-his-life" kind of way. He just wanted to know that he had left a dent. He wanted to believe that when she walked past a park that looked like theirs, her heart skipped a beat, even if just for a second. CHASE WRIGHT - Wish Youd Miss Me
The neon sign of "The Bluebird" flickered, casting a rhythmic red glow over the wet pavement. Inside, the air smelled of stale beer and old heartbreaks, but Chase didn't mind. He leaned against the mahogany bar, his fingers tracing the condensation on his glass. He wasn't there for the drink; he was there for the ghost of a girl who used to sit on the stool next to him. It had been six months since Maya left for Chicago
He stood up, tucked his chin into his jacket, and walked out into the cool night air. As he started his car, a familiar melody began to play on the radio. He sat in the driveway for a long time, letting the lyrics bridge the gap between where he was and where she might be, hoping that somewhere in the city of big shoulders, she was humming along and thinking of him. He didn't want her back in the "ruin-his-life" kind of way