We are running out of time.

I feel okay about things right now. The distance between he and I
compounds exponentially. And that is alright.

We stood far above the river rushing silently below. Curls of hair
billowing out and into the wind. The city stood before us and I
reached out to touch it. He laughed. I leaned over the ledge, wanting
to live a little more. The heels of my shoes scraping the cement
underneath them as I pushed further past the boundary. And it was
lovely. I thought about jumping, not because I wanted to but because I
wondered if anyone might try. Then a voice beckoned from the ceiling,
the magic was about to happen, the show was about to begin. We
lingered longer, waiting for I don't know what. We slowly found out
seats. I gave no outward sign of the panic boiling within, it festered
and fought for escape and translated into a quickening of step. I
don't like to be late but alarmingly early.

We are so different and not at all the same. Except for pretty things,
we both like pretty things.

The lights quickly faded and slowly came back. Voices boomed from the
stage below, lights taunted and allured. Then the magic happened.

But instead of being delighted by the drama playing below, I could
only think how was it that he had managed to avoid reading the novel
that comes so completely close to being my most favorite ever. I hated
him for it, just for a few moments. I guess I had been searching for a
reason all along. And this one might be it.

I also wondered if my hair still looked okay. But suddenly it was all
over and the actors took the stage and bowed and we clapped. And
somehow he managed to climb between the sheets in my bed and stay
there till the next afternoon. He asked if it would be okay if he
wrote me while he was away. For whatever reason, this had never
occurred to me and maybe it's because it seems to be such a terribly
romantic thing to do and I am not a terribly romantic person. I
hesitantly said yes and I am certain he detected my reservation. But I
am also a reserved person and he knows this so maybe he did not
notice. I thought about his question for a long time after he had
asked it and after I had responded to it. I always anticipated
goodbye to be goodbye and not a see you later in the kind of near
future, have a lovely life in the meantime. But this changes how I
feel even though it shouldn't. Having expectations has never served me
well, so adopting some would likely be a dangerous endeavor. So I
resolve to let life happen and if he wants to write me beautiful
sentences then I will write him ones much more beautiful and send them
back. And I will expect nothing, want nothing, need nothing from him.