"Why?"

Why? Really, was that all there was left to ask, why? I didn't have the answer, I never did, I just knew it was right. The whole time, I was stupid, for doubting, for ever once thinking that this wasn't where I belonged. He was stupid, because he made me doubt it, honestly, if he had ever just once extended his hand when I turned to leave, I never would have. At least, not for so long. We were stupid, for thinking that we'd be better apart, if only for the fact we'd never have to worry about the other's problems, never have to care who was on a downward spiraling binge, and never having to pick them up again. It was how it was supposed to be, it's what love is, being there, caring, and occasionally forcing the other to realize the stupidity in their mind.

But he went backwards, and destroyed my entire structure of life while he did, instead of trying after everything I gave up, on us. Maybe, deep down, somewhere the hopeless romantic was prodding at my conscious forcing me to realize after years of disbelief, that love was there. Maybe it forgot to come back after leaving my parents, or maybe it never left me at all, maybe I left it, and when I found it again, I didn't know, or understand. A friend turned stranger by an unusual bout of amnesia, now I remember it, and I don't have the courage to face it. So I gave up, stopped trying to reunite the friendship, because my new 'friends', disbelief and anger, didn't approve.

I wasn't just losing love when I walked away; I was losing a person, the person. The one with all the potential in the world to kill me, but the one that, that wouldn't. Even if I couldn't trust him, couldn't believe in him to tell the truth anymore, I couldn't leave. It wasn't an option, I tried to make it one, and the planet beat me down for it. I was only fighting against better judgment, and even though it was wrong what he did, destroying me so innocently, everyone knew, before I knew, that he was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Inevitably, he was going to kill me, if I'm going to die by his hands, I might as well be in his presence to enjoy the moment.

I wonder, if maybe, this is how people who've been married for fifty, sixty, years feel once one moves on without them, to the next life. I also wondered if maybe, in such a short time, we'd found a lifetime. We didn't have anything to lose but each other; somehow we still managed to lose that too. Now, standing here in front of me he wanted to know why. Was there anything keeping us together, or was it all in our love-sick minds? Did we have a purpose, or were we both so alone we just needed something? I didn't know, but I wasn't about to find out on my own.

"There's nothing else."