but his eyes were too dark for her to make out any spark in them

The love of those we don't love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates.

She tried to open the bottle, but the top slipped through her fingers without moving. He took the bottle from her hand and opened it with his thumb and index finger. There was nothing special in the gesture and yet she found it strangely fascinating like a small heroic feat performed specially for her.

In the end it happens, in some way you couldn't imagine before.

In fact, they didn't talk much at all, but they spent time together, each in his own abyss, held safe and tight by the other's silence.

People took what they wanted, they clutched at coincidences, the few there were, and made a life from them. . . . Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains.

[Their love] had burned itself out, like a forgotten candle in an empty room, leaving behind a ravenous discontent.