The bench was still empty. I knew you weren't coming, I had seen the obituary in the paper. Heck, I'd even been to the funeral. But I came anyway. Part of me expected you to show up that day in the park, the dead trees behind you, the snow glinting in the winter sun. You always looked like an angel when you stood there in the wind, and I loved you all the more for it.
I wonder what you were thinking that last night we met. I remember that there was no moon, but always stars. You never did believe me when I said the stars would always be there. But they always will be. I can remember tracing your face that night, so cold, so fair. And your eyes. Rich brown, always leaving me drowning in their midst. I wonder what you were thinking as you held me that night. Did you know you would never see me again? Did you know? I think you did, because you almost never smiled that night, and when you did it was tinged with sadness.
Ah, but how the hours fly when one is remembering. The sun was slipping under the horizon, and I stood up in anticipation. You always came at sunset, right when darkness began to fall. It always made me feel safer then, having you there. But now I can't be that safe. My excitement wore off and I sat down again. I didn't think I'd go home for a long while. So I pulled a novel from my bag and proceeded to read. You would have known what it was, you always knew. It was The Silmarillion, again. I was near the end, and I didn't want it to end. I never did.
But it ended every time. So did you, so did we. Everything ends in time, and I never grasped that. But as I neared the final lines and the tears slipped down my cheeks, they always did, I felt an arm around my shoulders. A smile crept on to my face, and I put my head down on what I though was your shoulder. But it was just empty air. I inhaled sharply and let the tears come forth, not caring if they splattered on my book. I could always get a new one, but I couldn't get a new you. I never would, never will.
It was then that I pulled a cigarette out of my bag. I had been trying to give it up, with your help. But the sheer emptiness of everything overwhelmed me. I think it was in that moment that I learned the true meaning of loneliness; to watch the smoke of your cigarette curl into harsh winter skies as you cry over an ended book and the memory of one so dear.