Okay, so I feel like I need to explain this one-shot. It's written from a woman's point of view. Who the woman is, is entirely up to you. I like the mystery of not knowing. I just wrote it on a whim and decided to post it. The story is part truth, part fiction, with a good dose of literary license thrown in for good measure. The italics are either her thoughts or memories.

Since there are no names, my disclaimer is this: I don't own anything except my own characters and plot...which is pretty much this whole story.

The somewhat distant future

My eyes open slowly and focus on my surroundings. The rain lightly taps on the window next to my bed and the branches of the oak tree dance in the wind. I see everything: the dark clouds, a bird huddled on the branch. The ever-present beeping of the monitor on my other side grates on my nerves, but I can handle it. That annoying noise helps keep me here on earth, not for long, but just a little bit longer. Normally, my mornings are fairly peaceful. I've come to terms with what's going to happen. But today, today feels different. There's a heaviness in my soul that wasn't there before. I knew it was coming, I just didn't expect it to be today.

"How are we feeling today?" A cheerful young nurse checks on my IV and gives me a once over.

"Just fine," I answer. I'm in a hospital, how do you think I'm feeling? But she doesn't know. And I won't tell her.

"Will your daughter be visiting today?" she continued on.

"Probably." I do want her to come see me, but at the same time, I know that it would be best if she didn't. Not today. Today, there is too much on my mind and not enough time.

The nurse finishes her customary checks and leaves, quietly closing the door behind her. I have exactly one hour before she comes around again. Not that anything extraordinary is going to happen. I'm still stuck here in this bed, and the inescapable future is still coming. I know I sound like a pessimistic doomsayer, but let me say my part.

Yes, I've lived an amazing life. Eighty-night remarkable years. I've had plenty of adventures and experienced so many things that few others will ever be able to relate to. However, if there's one thing I regret, it's him. What could have been.

I was young, naïve really. We both were. It was supposed to be a fairytale ending, happily ever after. We had it all planned out. Get married, travel the world, have kids, settle down, and grow old together. Well, I did end up doing all of that, but with a different person. I loved my husband, I really did, and he loved me as well. But all the while, I knew that a part of me was still taken.

I wish the best for you. That was the last conversation we had before going separate ways. I still remember that day as clearly as anything. "If you ever need me, I'll always be there for you," he said. I had tried to hold on to him, to our relationship too tightly. And I had to let go. I wanted to have it all, live my life the way I wanted. I did exactly that, but l lost something precious along the way.

The monitor alarm sounded, disturbing my thought process; my IV solution needed replacing. Another nurse entered. A few quick practiced movements, and she was gone, a new bag of saline dripping into my veins. Thankfully, they had stopped pumping those powerful antibiotics into me. Athough my daughter had initially protested, my wishes had won out. I've lived a lot of years and prolonging the end is not what I've had in mind.

My thoughts turn back to him. Where was he now? Did his life become everything he ever wanted? I know I did. Well, almost. I got the beautiful home, the doting husband, and wonderful family. But in order to do that, I gave up the first love of my life.

Now, I am a widow. My children are grown and have their own children, who have my great-grandchildren. I spend my days staring at the world outside, and the past is beginning to infect the present. In the midst of all of my musings, I have found one truth.

I still love him.

So many years have passed since then.

Yet, my feelings remain the same.

I remember a few years ago, when I was sitting on a bench at the park near my home. While I was observing the people walking the paths, I thought I saw him. My heart leapt and sank immediately when I realized it wasn't him. After some sixty-odd years, I thought the feelings would have subsided, but they remained, a quiet fire in my heart.

The malfunctioning IV squawked again. You would think with all the advances in technology, they would have something better than a needle in the arm. This time, I slowly lunge for the monitor, punching all the buttons, and finally the stupid thing shut up. It wouldn't be needed for much longer anyway. I reach for a box on the stand next to my bed. My daughter brought it for me the last time she visited.

"Why do you want an old shoebox, Mom?" she asked curiously.

"No particular reason. Just want to go through some old memories so you won't have to after I die."

"Don't talk like that!" she lightly scolded. She just didn't want to face the truth.

The box has faded with age, and I gingerly remove the cover. The sweet scent of roses filled my senses. There on the top, carefully wrapped in tissue was a rose he had given me. Underneath lay all the letters he had written me. I kept every single one of them, from the 5-page letter where he had listed 20 reasons why he liked me to the Valentine's Day poem he wrote me. There was the CD I had bought for his birthday, but we had broken up long before then. Not much good now, since CDs have gone the way of 8-tracks. I unfold one of the pieces of paper: I really, really like you:) was all it said, but just those few words sent a pang through my heart. And I remember…everything.

I met him because my friend said he would be perfect for me. And all I could do was insult his taste in music. Great first impression. He didn't seem to mind. Apparently, that only made him like me more. I didn't know what to think of him at first because he was so different from me. It only took a few short days before I knew I really liked him. What I didn't know was that he was going to break my heart.

He was so smart, which was a plus. Very few people kept up with my sarcasm and odd sense of humor. Initially, that was good, but eventually, my perfectionist side couldn't handle his intellectual superiority.

We had so many differences. I felt everything very strongly, while he was more reserved and struggled to understand my complex female mind. He was studious and diligent, and I got distracted every other second. I wanted to travel the world and be adventurous. His sense of adventure only went so far. Even his writing was neat and concise, just like him. The first few months were the best. We hung out, met each other's families and got to know each other. I've never had such a high cell phone bill in my life. He had to get a different plan to support all of the minutes we used talking. There were so many little things about him that made me the luckiest girl in the world. And now, makes me regret what could have been.

I miss him.

I miss his smile, and the way his eyes lit up. The dusting of freckles across his face.

I miss brushing those unruly curls out of his eyes when his hair was too long. I bet he doesn't miss the really awful haircut I gave him once. Hey, I tried, and it was my first time and last time doing so.

I miss the way his long fingers curled around mine. I remember watching him play the piano for the first time and being amazed by the way the music seemed to come alive.

I miss his self-confidence and believing in me even when I didn't. He never cared what others thought of him. I cared too much.

And the thing I miss the most? I miss his faith. His deep unwavering faith in people and in something, Someone bigger than us. My own faith was weak, and he constantly challenged me to be a better person.

My phone starts ringing. The blasted thing anyways. I used to have one practically glued to my hands. Now, I could care less. I fumble with the buttons before realizing there are none. "Hello?" A 3-D image of my daughter comes to life before me. Oh, the joys of technology.

"Hi Mom. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine," I answer. But inwardly, I know different.

"I think I'm going to come and visit today," she continued.

"Oh honey, I'm doing okay. You don't have to come out of your way. I know those great-grandkids of mine need looking after."

"Are you sure?" I hear the question in her voice.

"Yes." I don't want her here for when it happens.

"All right then, Mom, I'll call you tomorrow." She hesitates. "I love you."

"I love you too." The conversation ends, and her image fades away.

I set the device aside and return to the case at hand. There are a few other random things in the box. I fish around in the bottom before finding what I was looking for. An orange guitar pick. He had played a song for our group of friends, and given the pick to me afterwards. I carried that thing around in my wallet for years, occasionally pulling it out to fiddle with it. It eventually joined the box with everything else. I clasp it tightly in my hand for a moment before placing it back in the box and setting the box to the side. Our last conversation plays in my head.

"I can't do this anymore." He jumped up from beside me and began to pace. "We fight all the time, and I can't stand to see you unhappy."

"But I am happy with you," I protest, tears threatening to prove me a liar.
"I'm don't think you are," he said. Ever the rational one, he began to list out reasons why we should break up. The tears started then, partially because I thought he was wrong, definitely because I knew he was right.

"I don't want to break up," I said stubbornly. "Can't we try again?"

"What's going to change?" he asked. There was no answer. "We've tried so many times. It's a never ending cycle We can hardly stand to be around each other." Deep inside, I knew what I had to do, even though it felt wrong to me. I couldn't stand to see him like this.

I interrupted his speech. "Okay." He stopped pacing.

"Okay what?"

"We'll break up." I watched as a weight lifted off his shoulders.

"Thank you," he breathed. I stood, somewhat awkwardly. What I had just done hadn't quite hit me yet. I felt strangely calm.

"So, I guess it's over." The look on his face matched my own crestfallen one. "Before you leave, can I ask you one last favor?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Can I have one last hug?"

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. One final embrace. And I wanted to hold on, to tell him that we could work it out, but I knew I had to let go. My tears soaked the front of his shirt. I looked up at him, just like I used to when I was his girlfriend, and he smiled a sad smile at me. His dejected gaze met mine as he stepped back.

"There's someone out there for you, it's just not me. But if you need me, I'll always be there for you." He paused. " I wish the best for you, I really do."Then, he left, softly closing the door behind him. I ran to the window, blew on it and made the symbol of a heart in the steam. This was our special thing. I watched, waiting, hoping for him to reciprocate. Instead he looked at me sadly and walked away in the rain.

"I love you," I whispered into the stillness. But he wasn't there to hear those words. The words I never told him.

And just like that, he was gone.

Forever.

I cried for days, lying in my bed while my parents could only watch. My friends tried to comfort me the best they could, but I withdrew into a shell. For the first few weeks, I secretly hoped he would change his mind. However, what happened was that we fell out of touch completely. Social networking and the like kept me slightly informed, but we never purposely contacted each other. If we did run into each other, our conversations were kept short and polite. I know there were other girls because our mutual friends kept me informed. Each time though, he always broke it off. I did exactly what I said I would do: concentrate on my career and living my own life. Several years passed before I met my future husband. We fell in love, got married, had kids, and even traveled the world together, just like I'd always wanted.

But always in the back of my mind…there was him. Always him.

And, in the end, we did exactly what we said we would never do.

Leave each other alone.

Many years later, I tried tracking him down, but by then, it was too late. I couldn't find him anywhere, and I'd missed my chance again. I guess life isn't always a fairytale.

And now, here I am. I feel the end. My eyelids are heavy, so I close them.

Please...don't leave me here alone. I beg silently as I drift away. You promised.

"I wish the best for you." His last words to me are my final thought.

Maybe the best just wasn't good enough.

All right, I know this is a little out there. The original ending was even weirder (if you can imagine). As for the random technology bit, I tried to think of what things might be like in the future. Ugh, obviously, I'm not a good inventor. Well, if you have any comments, good or bad, let me know!

One more thing...the title comes from the song I Wish The Best For You by Emerson Hart. Great song!