It ended so quietly. It was a quiet, sunny, very unassuming April day when you told me, yet again, you ‘can't’. Like you did before, many times. Like you always did and still do, apparently. Still ‘can't’...
And then you hammered the nail in the coffin with that "of course," answering my question — of course we would be together if you weren't with someone else. Because of course.
And as I sat on my bed, half-dressed, time and space forgotten because you always manage to pull me in, fully, so much so that I forget everyone or anything outside you exists — I just stared at your reply and knew this is it. Quietly. The grief was slowly creeping in, painful, yet again. That soft knot in the stomach that churns and twists, and suddenly it hurts too much, because it already knows what I'm still scared to admit…
It's quiet. Inside me and around me, and I know. But I have to get up and leave, and I don't have time to cry. Not now. I'll cry later, when I have time. But I thought time is all I had. Well, maybe not. You said it's too late too, and only God knows what you meant (I do too. I always know what you mean).
And I'm thinking, what we had shouldn't end like this — not so quietly, not so painfully. This is not the happy ending I read about in love stories when I was 15; this is not what I see in movies, so something doesn't add up. I thought true love always wins, and so my ego is kicking and screaming that ‘you knew it all along that it won't end well, people leave and they hurt you’, and I have to look up from my screen and ask the universe and the higher powers, "Is this what was written for us? Really?" After what we've been through?
I can't… I can't deal with the injustice of it all. You said I'm throwing a tantrum, and you know what, I have every reason to. We deserved a better ending, better than this, after what I know… After seeing us, in that dream, in another life, in other bodies, where I was the one telling you "I can't," and we both cried, and you looked at me with that sad smile, but same eyes, and told me "maybe next time then."
And to know that this is that next time, this was our chance, and we didn't make it again…
Allow me to throw a tantrum, allow me to be hurt and shake my fist at the sky, and allow me to never forget you. To never forget what we had, how it felt, how you felt, and that damn March day you walked out for good, and this damn April day when you said I still can't. And allow me to be the one who says "maybe next time then." Maybe in our next lives we can make it, we will be more honest, more brave, more lucky. I hope I can see you in that one, again, for the first time, and recognize you from the look in your eyes, again, because I always will. "Of course" I will.