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I know now the passion at the end of it all is hauntingly unequivocal.
We have lied here for hours, my head against her warm chest as it rises and falls with every breath. Her hands tangled in my hair, fingers softly breaking knotted strands. No words have left our lips, but every now and then she leans down to plant a kiss on the top of my head. Her arms are an empty hive that I once called home, comforting but lacking sustenance.
The hardest part is letting go, a cliché that, despite its overuse, has more meaning than I have ever known.
She loved me for what others hated me for. While I sensed disdain and disgust from our peers, she was the exception. She sought me out with a warm smile and a gentle hand, and my excitement never once turned her away. Engaging was her strong suit, and with my talents, I could for once rest assured that all of it was genuine. We discussed, we debated, and I found quickly that her knowledge rivaled mine. Her subtlety became a beauty I envied, but also what I could never achieve.
Among our friends, she defended me. Although I could feel their distaste for me and my stories radiating in waves that brought me down, she pulled me back up with an assurance and love I could only dream of prior. I traced every line and curve of her phosphorescent body with my fingers and my lips, and she adored every part of mine. We never defined our dynamic, but I relished in it just the same.
Nothing this beautiful could last forever.
Her eyes began to wander, and I played jealous games that abused my abilities. We fought more, we spoke less, and we watched as the foundation of our flushed relationship cracked beneath our feet.
Here and now is the last time, despite the hesitancy and doubt that clogs my better judgment. Here, in her arms, under a blanket on a cold floor, redemption is out of the question. The only solace I find is in her lack of bitterness. I can only hope that she is also second guessing herself. I have already accepted our defeat, but I want her to treasure me to the point of begging me to stay.
“Aranea,” she says softly as my gaze lifts to face her. “I think it’s time.”
For once I have nothing to say. In my mind, I have a speech to win her back, to make her change her mind, to re-establish us as dedicated matesprits. Instead of pouring my heart out, I sew it up, and I crawl off of her as she dresses herself. I stand, hugging the blanket over my body as if I can no longer stand naked in front of her.
Her smile pained, she finishes slipping on her dress and cups my cheeks in her hand. We share one last, long kiss, and I don’t want it to end. She is the first to pull away, caressing my cheek gently before moving toward the door.
Her hand freezes on the door knob. “Aranea?”
My head lifts. “Yes?”
“I don’t regret a second of it.”
“Me neither.”
She smiles at me for a prolonged period of time before opening the door and shutting it behind her.
And now, it’s really over.