My hand tingles as I remember how I had held yours, the way the sunlight had danced in your hair, throwing tiny rainbows. The way you hadn’t looked away from me, like you feared that I would disappear, if you did. And how I had known what it was that you were doing, because I had been doing the same.
I had stared at the sunset, the way it drowned behind you….in you… And my breath had caught in my throat, for I had never been so wealthy to own something so precious, something so beautiful.
There would have been one word you would have had used, to describe it all, at the very start. “Cheesy”. Yes, romance had been cheesy to you, my sweet lover. I remember how you had smiled at me when you realised what I had been thinking, and pulled me close, pressed your lips onto mine, sealing a promise… sealing a goodbye.
And we have both come to learn that goodbyes and promises don’t go together.
For when the next time I sat, watching the sunset, it was on a window ledge, with the cold glass pressed up against my arm, my breath misting on it. The phone was against my ear, yet you didn’t say a word, and the silence deafened me. “I’m sorry.” you whispered, in a broken voice, something that was supposed to make me think that it all hurt you, too. I closed my eyes, and the line went dead.
The sun drowned behind you, in you, left with you, and I still long to look at a sunset, without having to squint my eyes.
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