Roots.

Late Night Stories.
A short tale of heartbreak.

He saw her. Some kind of look she had.  She had a sadness about her you can't repair, just one that you had to love.  The sadness that made the happier times better.  Their time kept brief, but just enough to realize something was real and planted inside.  The roots were shallow but protruded into the areas of the brain that never really make sense when analyzed. The parts of the brain that have no explanation, but is categorized as feeling. Feelings like a fluttering heart, shakes down to the shins, and makes your body tense.  The roots grew over time, but they got tangled somehow. The twisted roots grew but never got deeper.  But they still trigger a soft feeling of attraction.  Like stepping into a wet puddle, it doesn't consume you, but you feel it.
The triggers start with a familiar combination of characters.  Bringing the feelings back but stronger, because even though the roots haven't grown deeper, they are twisted up creating thicker and over-lapping roots. In every denial she can't shake the growth that as lane dormant for so long. The memories rush back like a blood rushes to a fresh deep wound. And it hurts her, she's bleeding out.  the trigger made a large impact, because it ignites more than memories. It brought to life the confusion and regret and flowed like a river into the open air.  Now there is pressure to make things right, the way things should have been.  But time isn't on her side, and as she stares at the pool of blood and realizes without the blood the roots will die soon.  She stands with her head down, eyes closed, hands close enough to her eyes to catch the tears.  Time never stops despite her despair. She only has days left before the roots run dry and so does the hope of ever having been.