A broadway dream..

My first attempt at a story.. well not first.. but certainly the first that anybody else will read..

She drew a long breath.
"I- "
He interrupted her hoarsely.
"Is there anyone now?"
"Yes," she said, "there is."
"You dont love him, do you?"
"Love him?" She laughed bitterly. "No; I dont love him."
"Then come back to me." he said.
She shook her head in silence. He sat down, his chin resting in his hands. She came to him, and ruffled his longish floppy hair.
"It wont work Angel" she said. "Honestly, I have no idea how it lasted as long as it did. Listen, when I first met you, I rather liked you. And I did fall in love eventually, as time went by. But you never did. I dont think you realize that. It was always about you. And it was always the 'Idea of being in love' as far as you were concerned."
"Was it love?" he mutterred, with an attempted half smile. "or was it the idea of being in love?"
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said sheepishly. "Just this Floyd song. Nevermind."
"You see now? You see why we weren't meant to be? You never loved me. You thought you did, but you didn't"
"I love you." he muttered. She either couldn't or chose not to hear him.
"You'll forget me. It was all just a dream, if not a lie. Not love, just the idea of it. It hurts, I know" she added. "But I've moved past it and I'm sure someday you'll be glad it ended too."
She stooped and gave him an awkward hug.
"I'll miss you" he said. "No, you won't." She replied softly, and was gone.
He sat on, motionless. Outside, the blackness turned to grey and the grey to white. He got up. He felt very stiff and cold.
"The idea of being in love" he muttered.
He went to the bookshelf and took up the photograph. He carried it to the window where he could see it better. A shaft of sunlight pierced the curtains and fell upon it.