The last time I saw you is something that has somehow silently, yet sharply lingered in my mind for almost two whole years now. The dull December breath was surrounding everything in the vivid cold that nipped at our noses and our ears. The exhaled vapor of our breathing floating weightlessly into the void that was the starry night sky until it ceased to exist, forgotten by the Universe.
I remember just how faintly offset the whole night felt. In my mind, I was worried that it might possibly be the final time we and our minds interacted with such an indescribable cavernous depth. I know now that it was. My whitened, slightly numb fingertip groped your doorbell and the muffled ring that followed was distinct from behind your front door. The door gently opened and there you were standing on the high ground before me, wearing a small but calming smile upon your face, accompanied with the single dimple on your left cheek. The moonlight from above struck your features and enhanced everything with precision. You gleamed in the dark night of winter like a lighthouse illuminating rocky Atlantic waters. I came in and smiled down at you, impressed at and grateful for the warmth that had blanketed me, in which the thermostat wasn't the source of.
We headed up the shadowed wooden staircase and I threw my coat on your creamy carpet when we made it to your bedroom. Lying down in your bed, we spoke of the events from that day and the days that preceded it. You went into detail about how things were, and I knew how things were. I wished they weren't that way. You showed me the yearbook pictures of the people you didn't like and of your soon-to-be boyfriend, even one of me, cracking jokes and telling little snippets of stories to each other along the way.
As the bittersweet night went on, inevitably I had to go. We made our way back down those dark stairs and to the porch you let me in on. Unknowingly bidding each other goodbye for one final time, your eyes met mine. They glinted.
Every fucking instinct within me in that standstill moment was to meet your lips with my own. But, it was too late. You were already letting me go. I had already begun to feel myself starting to slip through the grip of your beautiful pale fingers. My time; our time, had passed.
I turned and faced the hinting December air.
