Fall turned Pia vibrant like the trees lining the street. She thrived off of romance. When he forgot it, she invented some for the both of them.
Walks quickly turned grudging, though, and she worried at the ache in her chest. She felt bruised like a fallen leaf, sap running dry and dull down her shoulders.
Maybe, a whisper suggested, it wasn't really love.
Not-real-love, as it turned out, just wore her down. The two of them faded away. She lost her autumn color.
She ducked away in a secret place, wishing she hadn't glanced his way, asked him for a midnight walk, worn a blue dress and danced.
He didn't seem to mind.
More Pia! Hurrah! Ah, how interesting with the not-real-love concept. There's some confusion still there, I guess, with what the last line says. It's hard to tell what's real or not :)
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