𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 , w2s

epilogue

i fold my final letter, putting it in an envelope, which i mark with a small ten.

i never thought i'd be doing this. i thought i'd spend the rest of my life with you. and then, when we broke up, i thought i'd spend my life hung up on you.

and now i'm letting you go.

for once, my mind isn't racing when i place letter ten at the top of a pile of your items. they're being held in the box i found a few months back.

it's almost relieving to close the lid to that box and tape it shut. it feels like i'm getting rid of these feelings i still have for you and i'm moving on.

the last time i saw you was a few hours ago.

it's now around eight-thirty at night. i'm making sure i have everything and i'm preparing to make my way to your flat to say my final goodbye.

with every minute, i'm getting closer to your place. and with every minute, i'm nervous because i don't want to let you go. i want to run into your arms and stay there forever.

but i know that can't happen.

it's not good for either of us.

i pull into a parking space and prepare myself. this place is full of memories and i know they'll hit me as soon as i walk through the door. but there's no turning back now.

my feet are heavy as i walk to the door. this is my last chance. i could turn around, get back in my car, and leave. i don't have to say goodbye.

but before i can stop myself, i'm knocking on the door.

i wish i could've seen myself from your view when you opened it. i bet i looked stupid, standing there with a box in my hands and a nervous look on my face.

you look surprised to see me. like i'm the last person you'd expect to see at your door on a friday night. then again, i probably am.

"hi," is all i can get out. i want to say something else. anything else but hi. but that's all that'll leave my mouth.

"hi," you respond. i bite the inside of my cheek nervously before asking, "can i come in?"

it seems unreal when you nod and open the door for me to enter.

a feeling of deja vu comes over me. many times before i've been in this exact same place, saying these exact same words. only, now, they aren't going to result in a fight.

i set your box down on the table, folding my hands nervously. i can't make eye contact with you because one look into those eyes and i'll fall in love all over again.

"can we talk?" i ask. you take a deep breath before responding, "yeah, we can."

that's when i look up at you. there's bags under your eyes and your hair is a mess; you look tired.

we both take a seat on the sofa, facing each other. i ask, "how are you doing?"

your face gives me an answer: not well.

"i'm holding on. how about you?" it's a conversation that two strangers would have, but then again, that's what we've become. strangers.

i want to tell you a lie. i want to tell you i'm doing alright and i'm getting better. but my mouth and my mind are two different things of their own. so i tell you the truth, "not well."

you just nod. nobody asks why the other is feeling the way they are, because we both know that's how the majority of our arguments begin.

"what did you need to talk about?" you ask, looking anywhere but me.