There are ends you know are ends. The feeling of deadweight, something five pounds or more, settles in your stomach, and you watch him fade into the horizon.

Part of you feels skewed, hampered by at least 5000 words of argument and excuses as to why you should stay together, but there’s something in his eyes that refutes the words, all of them, without your uttering a phrase and so you resign yourself to knowing that the last thing you will see is his back as he walks away from you.

You heard a song once, trading  scotch for good coffee, words like I don’t think I’ll ever get over you, and you know, with every fiber it’s true. Weeks later, in a pretentious bar, you hear that song and the knowledge of true loss rises in your stomach. I’ll never get over you.

But each day the sun rises and you go to work and the seasons change, you date, but there’s no one like him. Friends tell you to compromise. They’re worried you’re losing your life, waiting. In their voices you hear truth, in their voices you recognize yourself.

Another day passes and the song resonates as if you’ve run into a canyon and the sight of him disappearing, echoes.

end 11/9/2016