She was standing on the street, with rain quickly slamming against the concrete around her, soaking through to the bone. The wind was chilling – her teeth chattered over and over, her body shook – and yet she was standing there with the letter she had penned in one hand - the necklace was in the envelope as well, tucked safely between the pages – and a box of memories in the other. How long had she been standing in the path, raining streaming down her face, and only thin cotton of the hoodie she was wearing keeping out extra chill. She smelled like tobacco smoke – a habit she though she had given up long ago – and her make up was smeared down her face; she couldn’t tell if it was the rain, or her own salty tears, which had stained her face.

“What am I doing here?” She asked herself, tucking the box under her arm and pulling out the carton of cigarettes she had purchased before walking towards the towering house. The smoke burned her lungs – badly – and she coughed as she inhaled again. If anyone caught her standing her, a soaking wet and pathetic mess, she wouldn’t know how to explain herself. And yet, she stood on that corner choking her lungs of clean air, and trying to see through cloudy and emotional eyes.

She had been looking for the necklace for months, tearing her room apart, search every crevice; she couldn’t even remember where she had found it – or why she would have put it there – but the only thing she could hope was that finding it was a sign. It was tiny, and dainty; the second she found it, it was like she had to buy it, and the months she had spent searching for it had been hell. But standing there, with the necklace pressed between the pages of happy memories and pictures of people that no longer existed, there was no turning back now. Shivering once – it seemed to get colder with each passing second – she inhaled the smoke deeply and tried to coax her legs to walk up the steps and drop the box and letter off for her.

“Just do it.” She told herself. “It’s time.”

But her body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t budge; she feared that she would be stuck on the outside of her life looking in forever, slowly cascading back into painful habits – like smoking – instead of living her life. If she could do this, if she could say goodbye, then moving on would be an easy transition. She could deal with the pain; she could fight through it and no obsess so much. She could be happy again, with a radiating smile like before. No more tears, no more sleepless nights, no more wondering what she had done to deserve this.

She stepped forward, moving across the concrete towards the driveway; the house was dark, the cars were gone, and it was now or never. She had to let go. Put the songs and the pictures – the memories – behind for now until she was ready to deal again. Ready to look back on her past with smiles instead of the painful tears she felt now. The door was getting closer, and the memories of running away to here and knowing there was a hug on the other side filled her head; tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision, and yet she walked forward, quickening her step. She knew that house as well as she knew her own, remembered curling up in her best friend’s best crying about broken hearts and the way people “just didn’t understand.” She remembered confessing her darkest secrets and revealing her deepest scars.

Pausing once at the door, realizing it would be the last time she would ever stand here, she inhaled deeply. “Goodbye.” She whispered, raising her hand to the glass and wiping back a tear; this wasn’t just going to be a couple days, a couple months, something she could take back when she was scared she couldn’t make it – this was forever.

“I love you. Always.”

She stood in front of the house for a couple minutes after that, hidden behind the trees with the cigarettes in her hand – it would be her last one, she knew that – waiting until the car pulled into the driveway and her best friend jumped out, rushing up towards the door the way she usually did. When she saw the box, she paused, looking around to see if anyone was there and then picking it, and the letter, up in her hands and exploring it. Childish writings and rainbow colors, exploring the letters immediately without even stepping inside. She sat on her doorstep, the box in her lap and the letters in her hands; promises she had almost forgotten, and a goodbye that hurt no matter how late it came.

“Goodbye,” She whispered, from the street, watching her best friend, her sister, sort through the memories that neither would ever forget.

“Goodbye.”