We were always meant to say goodbye.

We were always meant to say goodbye.

I reminded myself as you crawled into bed next to me.

Maybe you have held me this tightly before, and maybe it has just been three-short-relationships-and-a-meandering-journey-of-single-hood amount of time and that’s why I don’t really remember. But when I was in your arms last night, it felt like it was the tightest you have ever wrapped your arms around me. My fingers were intertwined with yours and I didn’t want to ever move. I kept my breaths intentional and steady, fearful that even the slightest bit of disruption might stir you in your slumber and cause you to unfold your body away from mine.

We were always meant to say goodbye.

You brushed my hair away from my neck, and I could feel your breath against my skin. It has been two and a half years even though it has felt like a decade. I blinked my eyes half-open in a manner of reticent dignity, and shut it again as I took in your presence. I’d already forgotten how you smelled like, so I couldn’t tell if you smelled the same, but in my head, you did. Because it was you. It was you — flesh and bone, pheromones and essence, past and present, broken and complete, and I want it all.

“How do you feel?” You asked, alluding at our shared difficulty at suspending consciousness.

I hesitated, wondering if it would be too dangerous to bare my soul.

“I feel like..” I paused, squeezing your hand a tad tighter. “…if they say that true love is wanting someone to be happy, even if it means that you can’t be with them, then I think that you are the only person I truly love.”

You were quiet. I thought I saw you wipe your cheek from the corner of my eye, which might imply that there was a brief and subtle presence of a tear. But crying isn’t like you, so perhaps I was imagining things.

“I feel the same way about you.”

A first tear broke free. Crying is like me.

Were we always meant to say goodbye?

We drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours, softly repeating words in a similar thread of buried affection; our warm bodies dancing around the flame. I let you lead us with little to no misgivings — if you had wanted us to jump into the fire, I would’ve followed.

I would follow you to the ends of the earth.

Your alarm went off. We were always meant to say goodbye. I meditated on this belief as you pulled away to get dressed, and I refrained from the desire to whisper “stay”. The single tear that had broken free earlier is finally followed by its accompanying stream.

As you closed the door behind you, you muttered a few words that were barely audible. I want to believe that they made out to be, “I do love you”.

Were we always meant to say goodbye?

“Will I see you again before you leave?”

I wanted to know; I may have things to say.

“Nah, what’s up?”

“Ok nw” I hit send. We were always meant to say goodbye.