Speak the words you have swallowed. We have nine years of silence to fill. Let us crowd this night with all we have not said, let us cover every last second with our secrets. Whisper them soft and sure against my skin. Tell me goodbye, and tell me why.
Dust me for your fingerprints one last time, hold me up to the light and see yourself all over. Know that you were here. Here we are. Grasp at what we will leave behind. There are ways for us to end this.
Love me just enough. Then let me go. Hold tight all through these midnight hours, then stand up and watch me walk away.
My darling, there are ways for us to end this.
(Move to the window when I close the door. Press your forehead against that double glass, and strain to keep me in your sight. Stay with me – won’t you, please? Watch me tremble away from you into the night).
We have always known tomorrow would come.
To get what you want. And yet. It is still an ending. We’re only ever telling stories. The living part – it hurts, no matter how you decide to tell it.
I miss you.