How were we suppposed to know?
This too shall pass.
No amount of wishing would give us the time we wanted: we turned, at last, onto an avenue that was as familiar as my favourite book. I could have closed my eyes and counted the paces to her apartment block, even in the soft patter of rain.
She paused at the second step up, while I stayed on the first; I looked up at her and she looked down at me.
Not for the first time, I felt a warm rush of wonder. She really was beautiful. Caught up in our playful teasing, I hadn't told her that enough - and now, I would never be able to again.
"Thanks for tonight."
"Won't you come inside? Just for coffee, come on. Just this once."
"It's not a good idea. You know that."
"I wish... we had more time."
"Not the only thing I wish for, believe me."
"Oh... I'm so sorry."
"So am I. So am I."
Her tears glistened brightly, swimming with neon distortions like the wet pavement. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but I jumped that last step and hugged her tight.
We didn't say goodbye. We both hated that word.
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Comments (2 so far!)
ElshaHawk LoA
So very sad! I take it that she offered the coffee in friendship and out of kindness rather than out of any desire, though I wanted the desire to be there, for her to feel a mutual regret to give him hope. Unfortunately, it seems you painted her in a light that she had moved on to a place where he could not follow. It's heartbreaking. I feel very similarly.
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HSAR
Not precisely a memory, less than a daydream, more than a nightmare. Mixed and muddled and rinsed and soaked with anger and regret and sadness.