Post cards

For over a month, I had been dating this girl. Things were going well, at least in my mind. She would be the highlight of my week and she would say the same to me. I wasn't head over heels at first but she had won me over and after the previous run-ins with the opposite sex, this was rare for me. I was usually so cautious, so pessimistic about any form of romance working for me but this seemed like it could work.  Friends would ask to meet her but I would brush it off because I was scared of fucking everything up, I was fucking terrified.  I always fuck things up but none of this mattered though because she was still with me and that had to mean something right?
I knocked on her door and her friend had opened it, smiled at me and told me she was upstairs. I walked up the 15 steps and knocked on the door 3 times before pushing it open. She was sitting their, beautiful as always but something was different.
I sat beside her, staring at her face, looking for an trace of joy and I found it. I saw it in her eyes and watched her lips curve like a scimitar, forming a perfect deadly smile.
The joy, this time, wasn't created from her fondness of me because she didn't plant her kisses onto me or lock her fingers into the spaces between mine. She didn't hold me in her embrace, instead she held a postcard.

She looked up and the smile disappeared. All I saw now were tears.