I write this as I try again to catch my breath. Soaked in an emptiness all to familiar with its perforating scent of self-regret and second guessing. I made myself collapse chasing after you. I sat there behind the door as you walked away. In the passing minutes I debated about right and wrong. I argued over sense and sensibility. Fantasy and reality. Self-worth vs sacrifice. I wanted to sit and talk to you about all the interesting things I had been reading about and all the memories I wanted to make with you.
Whether or not this was the last time you entered our home, I felt the same as I always had. I wanted to smile... I wanted to hold you... I wanted to welcome you home. I had missed you. I have been missing you. I wanted to exclaim that I had slipped again and addressed you as my woman today, then proceeded to talk about how funny you are when you don't feel like doing something followed by an hour long argument. However, I felt your intentions were singular. I knew they were. I squashed every shred of fleeting happiness in that moment and struggled for restraint.
As you left, I followed. You closed the door and I stopped myself. Instinctively, I reached for the handle... and stopped. I fell to the floor.
Why am I letting you walk away!? Why can't I chase after you!?
Our dog panicked about, licking my arm and nudging my body every which way. "Where is she going!? Let's go get her! I need to pee!"
But all I could do was sit. I sat and cried. I cried for all the nights we had shared. I cried for all the nights I wanted still. I cried for everything. I had lost you. It didn't matter the circumstances or what was said, the pain of you leaving was real and paralyzing.