Unlike him, she didn't need any noise to feel alive. He was always used to the middle of the room - laughing, screaming, and the music was a little too loud. It was present like a fish in the water in the noise. But she like silence or something close. The rustling of leaves, the steady rhythm of her own breath, the creaking sound of the board under your socks. Not like him, she had to find peace in silence and she still need to know that she doesn't have to say anything.
He thinks of himself in his own head and speaks in connection to his mind before thinking. It's wide open already. She lingered. I was waiting. observation. People confused it with a cold, but it wasn't a cold - he calculating, probably a caution, or maybe a quiet hope. Unlike him, she was ain't panic to be alone.
They were put together like a big water storm, like an opposite charge. He set the room on fire. She noticed the shadow. And may be they worked for a while. She cut him up and he pulled her out of him. But when things got difficult - and of course they did it - he ran. noisy. dramatic. She stayed and sat quietly at the ruins, trying to understand which part of her had missed the signs.
In contrast to him, she didn't need an audience to mourn.