A Note From You, From A Time We’ve Left Behind

Spring was almost here, the last grip of winter slowing her release. We met, coincidently, on a cold and rainy night. The rain came down again, but it felt like ice on our face as our cheeks were still red from the walk. We took off our scarves and I warmed my feet on your legs. You never told me if it bothered you, but it became a habit. The habit of someone else thawing my cold.

The weather slowly warmed and the days became wonderfully long. We got into our beds later and later, less touching needed as the world went on. The sisters, spring and summer, were never meant for heavy conversation. They only offered us the playful, the lack of stress when world holds us to the beginning. Our breaths became deep and steady while we took up more of our beds. The early spring unison became stretched throughout the summer.

The nights spent together became fewer and farther between. We would talk about our goals, how our directions weren’t the same. You wouldn’t want to talk about it, instead making up other dreams. The ones where we were positive if horses could walk on hind legs they would take over the world. The dreams in which distance didn’t matter and you could work from wherever I was. A dream in which we had forever.

I told you, right now, I couldn’t be your forever. We talked about if animals understood forever. Because, so far, every forever we’ve heard has always ended.

But I wish I could’ve been a forever. I was stuck behind line of men that had fallen in love with me and still frightened because of the one that didn’t. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I let you hold me and I listened to your breathing. In the amount of time we were together, I had picked up on your patterns. It was different, something was off. Perhaps your subconscious knew it was the end. The end neither one of us wanted to imbue into the air. At least words disappear quickly, in metaphorical ways. In the morning, I heard you stir. You kissed me on the cheek but I didn’t turn over. I couldn’t sleep all night, stayed facing the wall. I heard you shuffle something, then the sound of putting on your clothes. The door slammed shut and I fell instantly to sleep.

Months later, at the beginning of October, I was finally cleaning out my desk. I was throwing away old cards I didn’t need. Cards from lovers before any of us understood forever was choice more than it was a promise. I looked through my papers and there was something I hadn’t seen yet. Stuck in the pile an inconspicuous torn piece of paper. I unfolded it softly and instantly recognized your handwriting.

“Let this moment be forever.”