He walked briskly down the dark streets, half-intentionally trying to drown the sound of his sniffling by dragging his feet as he walked.
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, balled fists; ironically, he had just made the decision to let go. In his guilt, insignificant noises of the night seemed to resemble her voice. All around him, it seemed, she was talking, sometimes laughing, occasionally whispering. But he could not stop. He would walk into the night, hoping that every step would bring him further from his feelings.
He knew that would never happen, she was his everything. But it was okay, he was never worth anything, anyway.