I knew it was over that one summer weekend, the one where you moved me in. I know you did, too. What we had built couldn’t compete with this distance. Nevertheless, we held each other constantly during those final days, grasping at the withering tatters of what was once a promising relationship.
You felt so small in my arms as we wiped away each other’s tears, already grieving what wasn’t yet lost. I watched you leave that Sunday evening to recross state lines, and I reluctantly wondered; after all these years, is this the last time I’ll see her?
It was.