You sit next to me tonight, quiet. I look at your hands, your fingers, your shoes - flat and steady against the ground. I look at your face as you look into the distance. I ask you, "Is it ok how we are right now?" "What do you mean," you reply. I look down.
"How do you see us five years from now?", you ask. I keep my silence. We are walking now.
"Different...and a little bit the same," I answer after we crossed the street. "What do you mean?", you ask again. I know you know what I mean. "I hope we change," I say. "We will, definitely," you reply. You sound so sure. We're now sitting by the street.
I look at you, glance is the right word. We are quiet again. "Do you know what I fear most?", I ask while trying to remember your face as I stare at the ground. "Death?", you answer. "No," I say. "Me neither," you interrupt.
"Betrayal," I finally answer while trying to compose myself. "Tomorrow, you're gonna leave me."
You're quiet now. You look at me. You stare into my face as you hold my hand. "I don't like goodbyes," you say after a long, crippling silence.
"But this is goodbye."
- Aug. 6, 2017
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