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The end

Sitting on the airport toilet, it occurred to me that the duty free Godiva display could count towards my remaining meal budget.

Next to the Godiva table, I discovered a Sees chocolate display, the spot where you must have bought them for me. It’s a good thing you made me open the box to try some that Sunday before you left because after you left, for the last time, that Thursday, I threw them away with everything else.

I find myself following in your footsteps, three months later, tracing your path through the Jet Blue terminal in San Francisco where you, wrapping up a week of contemplation, must have thought to yourself, “I guess I can expense a final gift for Melissa, something sweet before I end it all.”

I guess it’s really not that coincidental that I find myself following in your footsteps. You did solidify my loyalty for the airline; you did conjure extra intrigue with the city; you did make me want this job so badly, so I’d have an acceptable excuse to text you, a memo like: “Hey, if I’m moving across the country, do you want to know?” You’d be surprised: maybe you’d expected me to move a few hours down the coast but nothing this drastic. You’d be jolted, filled with a moment of nostalgic sadness, but you’d take a deep breath and suggest a final coffee before I leave. At the coffee, maybe you’d suggest we do it again if I’m ever in town again. And that’d be it for us.

penis

A true goodbye

I take solace in the idea that even though it may feel like “the end”, it’s not the end because no one can ever really know when “the end” will truly be, when our final interaction will be, when the end will come. 

Our perception of relationships with clear ends and beginnings is a perception.

It’s not that we’re not over: it’s that life is fuzzy, our interpretations more finite.