There’s a moment at the end of every relationship, platonic or otherwise, when you come to the realization that the last day you spent with someone may actually be the last time you physically see them. And of course, on that day, you probably didn’t know you’d never see them again, maybe you even had idealistic plans for the future, or maybe just plans that included sharing the same physical space with this person who, in the moment, meant so much to you. So you don’t appropriately savor your time together, because who could’ve guessed a week later you’d both be erasing each other from memory? Well, if you were being honest with yourself about the situation, maybe you could have guessed that the end was near, you probably just didn’t want to see it coming. Who would want to predict such a predictably awful ending?
Anyway, back to that moment of clarity, when everything comes to a head and you finally understand that this isn’t like every other empty threat before, this time the threat isn’t empty, this time the end is final. And so you go back to that day, that last time you saw one another, and you start trying to remember every little detail you can. How soft their hair felt when you ran your fingers through it as they laid their weary head in your lap. How their warm fingers gently traced up and down your spine, and how wanted that made you feel. How it felt to bite their lip, and how their nails dug into your hip, and how they gripped your thighs and looked into your eyes, and how much of that you’re going to miss. How they made you feel beautiful as they looked up at you while you straddled their chest. How their hands periodically interlocked with yours while they were dreaming, and how safe you felt next to them. How they looked with you hugged them goodbye. How your bodies intertwined as you slept in until 3PM because you both were always meant to rule the night. How they put on their clothes and tied their shoes, and how you secretly wished they could stay just a little longer, but you didn’t want to seem too eager or too vulnerable. How that last conversation felt off, but you didn’t want to bombard them with a serious discussion before they drove home. How their cheek felt when you kissed it one last time. Which specks of color the daylight revealed in their eyes as you watched them walk out of your life forever.
How you cried immediately after you shut the door, because things in the daylight never are as beautiful as they are at 4AM. How deep down, if you were being honest with yourself about the situation, you knew the end was near and that this inconsistent, unspecified romance wasn’t sustainable. But you wanted just *one* more day of feeling like you mattered to someone, someone who ultimately would tell you that you actually never mattered at all. But you chose not to see that coming, because who would want to predict such a predictably awful ending?
What’s left now is the bulleted list of details documenting whatever you could remember from that last day you spent together, a memory you’ll revisit less and less frequently with time, eventually tucking it away in some unmarked box in a storage facility you never visit. A small historic artifact from a past life you shared with a stranger.
