A Cruel Summer Day

The last time I saw her, it was a summer day, the dogs were misbehaving and the sun was cruel on our backs as we walked the park.

She had never looked at me that way before and my heart feared the next words that would escape from her mouth.

"I'm leaving," she said.

I wanted desperately in that moment, to steal her away.

I didn't want to hear the rest.

I wanted to bombard her with our shared memories, make her feel bad about her thoughts, make her feel guilty about wanting to leave this, leave me.

I wanted to whip out my phone and point it at her face and say "see? See all these beautiful pictures? This is us! Together! Beautiful moments that we have shared over the years! Beautiful memories that will make you regret leaving me!"

But I didn't do all that, instead, I sat beside her in the grass as she explained herself, as she told me why she thought this was best for the both of us, and I knew deep down that she was right.

I was holding onto something that had fizzled, something that had run its course. I was allowing us to suffer through it, even though it was fading.

So, I did the wise thing.

I just nodded.

And kissed her one last time.

That was the worst summer day of my life.