EXT. CITY STREETS – NIGHT
Rain slicks the pavement, turning neon lights into shimmering reflections beneath my feet. The air is thick with something unspoken, something heavy. He stands in front of me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes shadowed under the streetlamp glow.
“And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God…”
Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill” hums from the nearby bar, muffled but unmistakable, like a ghost from another time. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“I get it now,” he finally says, voice raw. “I get what I did to you.”
The words linger between us, cutting through the space like a blade. He tells me about her, the woman before me, the one who never held him close, never let him in, never gave warmth. And how he chased after something that was never going to love him back.
How he finally felt what I had felt.
I want to say something biting, something that twists the knife just a little. Instead, I just nod, the corner of my mouth curving into something that isn’t quite a smile.
I had spent so long running up that hill, trying to make him see. Now, he was the one climbing. I was already at the top, watching.
So I thought.
The Unfinished Thought. 
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