Knowing
One-shot
There was only one goodbye left to say now. One goodbye to the one person who meant more to him than the rest of the world and heaven together.
'Goodbye' wasn't adequate, and 'see you soon' was a lie. There was really nothing to do except look at each other—a look to tell the truth, a look like they shared only hours before, when they were leaving together in that night, a see-you-always look with every emotion plain to see for each other but invisible for all else. And the look and a squeeze in reply—a small squeeze and a quick release, and that was it. Knowing, as he should, to let go and preferring, as he should, to look up and away, toward the inky blackness in the distance and the pricks of light in the sky, through the air that was piercing, past the atmospheres which were bearing their incredible weight down on one soul.
There was no turning back, no 'please stay's, nothing consoling. Fate does not look kindly on all; she looks kindly on few, harshly on many, but indifferently on the majority.
And those on whom she smiles, and those at whom she glances yet then away do not know how lucky they are. That there will be no heartbreak.
But this was worse than heartbreak. For heartbreak might be controllable, and in turn consolable, but all he had to do was hold on and she would be there readily grasping at his ever-chilling hands. He hoped she would be. And if he let go now, she would break her promise, lose her future and that all her beautiful young life had yet to offer.
So he would keep his present, and she would keep her life.
And so he stayed, stayed with the one person who could save him from the all-encompassing darkness which was drowning him, freezing him even as the midnight stars chimed their silent tolls on a tragic spring night and the waters were at their lowest ebb.
And he stayed with her, and he stilled his feet; after all, they had betrayed him in carrying him to her. He stayed, and in that moment he stilled his heart.
He stilled it not with magic; he had none and not by any human means. He stilled it through the power of his will alone.
For his feet had carried him around the bend in the road, and he could no longer see the place he had left her.
But he knew, in his heart of hearts that she would not be there waiting for him. She would not have stayed and watched him go. She knew this goodbye was coming, and she, the strong one—the brave one—would make herself ready for this moment in a way he never could.
And there was no going back. The way was only forward.
And soon, but in a time no longer measurable on a watch with a second hand and a minute hand, but at a time only measurable by the beating of a dying, broken heart, the man, the one who had, not long ago, been a boy, discovered that even at their lowest ebb, the waters were quite deep enough in which to make a final journey.
He never knew if she was lying there, waiting. But his last thought was of that empty space of road which should have held his darling, his beloved.
He'd never knew, but she would.