We met on the first evening of autumn that year. The months
following were spent in laughter, exploration, dance, and late-night
sharing of each other's life story.
Then one day he said to me, "This can be forever if we let it." His
words were heavy, though genuine. Yet somehow, I was unconvinced
of us.
I polished off a glass of fizzy. I picked at some invisible lint on my
black jeans. How faded they were in the unmasked light.
He reached for my hand. I reached for something on the end table--
perhaps an excuse, perhaps another reason to continue being without
a permanent condition.
We didn't talk for a few days. We didn't see each other for a week.
Eventually, it became a month. Then a year passed. Autumn came
and went.
Yesterday marked the fifth year of our obsoletion. I heard he married
a pretty gal and started a family. They are living somewhere overseas
now. He fancies her very much. That is all I know.
We could have been each other's forever.
But I didn't believe it.
I didn't allow myself to believe it, or to believe him.
These days, autumn only reminds me of what I no longer have.
Forever.
---
Originally written in 2012
Edited and published in 2014