The Line
Friendship will always have a certain limit. It's the line where friendship ends, and something more begins. It's a line that cannot be crossed lightly. And, once crossed, you can never go back.
He realized that they were rapidly approaching that limit, that boundary from which they could never return. It terrified him, more because of what lay buried beside a ruined cabin under a white elm tree than because of what might lay in an unforeseen future.
Then came the day when it appeared that she crossed that line. He saw it in her eyes.
It's time to go.
Running Away
He was trying to get out, trying to get away before he became trapped. So he packed his meager duffel, stuffing his few extra pieces of clothing and a blanket inside. He didn't know where he was going. He just had to leave. Anywhere would work, anywhere but here, in the palace, close to her.
It was maddening, the feeling of being trapped, a wild bird shut inside a gilt cage with its trappings and frippery. He felt useless, drifting along behind her every day with no purpose. He always had been more comfortable under the sky, free of restraints.
Honorable Intentions
It was cowardly, he knew, to leave without saying goodbye. And many things could be said of him, many characterizations made, but no one could ever say that he was a coward. Maybe that's what drove him to the parlor where she always took tea with her mother and sister. The two other women excused themselves gracefully.
Words came uneasily as he told her that he was leaving. Questions filled her eyes, and he gave her all of his reasons without waiting for her to ask.
All reasons but one. He couldn't admit that he was terrified of loving her.
Lost in Herself
Emotions are often convoluted trails of the maze of human existence. Some paths lead out of themselves, opening to the world and inviting others into the enigma. Others lead to the center of human existence that is the heart. The rest—well, those paths tangle in on themselves and each other, twisting this way and that in confusion.
She'd made the mistake of following lesser traveled paths, ones she knew should have been avoided. But follow them she had, and now she paid the price.
He doesn't love me.
The problem was that he did. And that love scared him.
Departures
A single, solitary teardrop slid from a crystal blue eye down a pale cheek. It followed the line of a small, quivering chin and dropped with a tiny isplash/i on a black lace-covered dress. Before long, the tear was joined by another, this one following the other's track exactly. Only a few moments passed before it was impossible to distinguish the teardrops one from another.
Sobs shook slender shoulders as she watched a grey-clad back disappear into the dark streets of the city. If he heard, he gave no sign. He simply kept walking. She would never see him again.