The Assumption

We sat on a bench, this girl and I. It's a windy, autumn afternoon.

Reminiscent of the past, I can't shake off all that had taken place...every moment she entered my thoughts, I felt the need to self-destruct, anguish trying to discern what I was supposed to do or not, should or shouldn't have said when we spoke directly, took the actions and made the expectations that lost her, and the life she's just begun to live only now...

She was entitled to know before we officially ended things for good, that we both perceived our short-lived relationship material. Something whole, sacred...legendary would've come out of it all. If only we kept going, if things didn't turn out as planned.

Both of us massaged the rings on our forefingers as we sat in the wind. I glanced over at her and anxiously turned away, in disbelief of the irritated bags under her eyes. Silence arrived, sat between us.

As I spoke, she listened.
...minutes passed by and heaved more weight than intended. She did not utter a syllable or word, just nodded and shook her head through and through.

I couldn't explain it, why time felt slower after that, or why she didn't speak; yet acknowledged the entirety of what I just said, despite her brilliance to act in denial of all truths. Nor could I explain the drained and defeated way I felt going on...sharpness peaked within me. I gripped my chest slyly and spat on a dead, grey leaf, turned it maroon.

At that moment this dark, professionally dressed gentleman appeared, looked us.

She was on her feet by the time I look at him and back to her; she suddenly was in a brighter, better mood. I figured as much.

In a matter of seconds, she began to fade in the clear screen of water that trapped her, soaked her. Funny, she hasn't reacted nor uncurled from the man that caresses her gently, even as the screen ascended taller.

She doesn't even notice.
The screen crumbled to the asphalt.
I wiped my eyes.

To me, whatever had or needed to be said was, and in the end she deserved to know what I thought of her, used to think of unrefined & fond of one another we became.

I stood up and walked, homeward-bound, returning to my thoughts. She wasn't so useless. There wasn't a day that went where I didn't think about her. Knowing we couldn't work was the struggle to clear the doubt. Living in the reality of it enforced my reason to not tell her how I felt then. Yet each day in that one year I fell for her...I don't know what it was, but it compelled me. She provided me with a...hope.

I let the water out from my eyes unbeknown that it would be the last time I ever do such a thing, an embarrassing, demeaning thing for one. Devastated am I that she's leaving...has gone, but somehow I still believe she didn't stop wanting to be my friend, a kindred spirit...

To me, I knew we were done, indefinitely through. It couldn't be sugar-coated any, not anymore. We'd never look back over our shoulders one final time and would've imagined, neither regretted or ached...nor looked back to what could very well have been, should have happened...return to what feels natural.

For the remainder of the walk through the star-blemished dusk that diluted into the amber of the sunset sky, I successfully convinced myself this was true; in regards to what we went through for certain...we would never run back to the other...never stop walking away from something greater, to never take that final split-second decision to change our futures.

...never look behind our shoulders and let it fall back together in place...that would never happen.

Or so I thought.