I always thought it would be different. After all this time, after everything we've, after all the history. I always thought fate would be kinder to us. I thought we would grow old, side by side, heart by heart. I always thought that our future was open to become anything that we wanted it to be and boy did I have plans, but I only wanted you. Hence, my future can never be what I wanted it to be. Cause you left me. I thought that when the end came, we would go together. It was foolish, I know, but I couldn't imagine life without you. I thought we would die in each other's arms, our love being declared with dying breaths. I thought that not even death would be strong enough to tear us apart, but death was stronger than I thought. It was strong enough to take you. I always thought the world would cease to keep moving when the end came, but everyone kept on living as though you had never even existed. There was no public mourning. It didn't even rain. Your life was commemorated in a small column in a newspaper that no one reads anymore. I thought that my life, at least, would be forever frozen in the darkness you left me in. But even I moved on. My life is irreversibly different, but I'm still living. Breathing. Mourning. I always thought that your death would defeat me, but I guess I was stronger than I thought. I always thought that the last day would be unique. I always imagined tearful goodbyes, but we didn't die in each other's arms. We did not grow old, or even recognize our last moments as significant. There was no sense of foreboding, no premonition of the end.

You just left for work on a Thursday morning, quick peck on the cheek, coffee in hand, and never came home. And that was realities worst trick yet.