The author wrote that the woman wore green.
I clearly remember the blue cashmere I had on that day.
I had worn a black skirt with a blue pinstripe and a coordinating sweater.
He said the blue matched my eyes.
The rain blocked the light, he wrote.
The sun had already set.
Our kiss at the door was as brief as the mist that preceded the rain (that wasn’t there).
Maybe this emphasizes his longing. Adds a Casablanca sacrifice to the story.
We both know, however, that we had sex on the sofa, and the condom broke.
The next morning I had to call the doctor when he had already left me for work.
She never loved me.
Check the source again.
She said, “awful.”
No, it was “fulfilled.”