We sat by the lake, staring into the inky darkness of the water under the light of the half-hidden moon. Your hand grazed mine and I started. You looked at me, a wry smile on your face before you stood up and walked to the edge. The crickets stopped chirping, the frogs paused their croaking, the wind ceased blowing as the water lapped at your feet, tasting and testing your resolve.
“Do it,” I whispered into the night air, staring at your naked silhouette.
I know you heard me but you didn’t turn around. “Don’t you love me enough to make me stay?”
“Not enough.” I breathed.
“Am I not enough?” You asked again.
And for a moment I thought back to all the memories, felt back to all the kisses, heard back to all the laughters. I shut my eyes tight. “You’ll never be.”
You turned around then, though I still couldn’t see your face. I didn’t need to. I never did. “I thought we were happy.”
I wanted to come to you, to comfort you, to ease the pain in your voice. I didn’t. Instead I opened my eyes and smiled the wan smile we once shared, “How can we? We don’t know what it is.”
The crickets chirped again, the frogs croaked, the water shied away from your feet. I closed in on myself, feeling the cold wind returning. You walked back and sat down next to me, purposefully grazing my hand as you did. I didn’t start. It was just the end.