Status: Complete
Goodbye
Goodbye
We’d decided to meet outside her workplace. She couldn’t get time off, and I understood that. Her work has always been important to her. At the time I felt a stab of jealousy in my heart, but sense reigned: it wasn’t her fault. I was the one who had to leave.
When I arrived, she was waiting outside. She was trying so desperately hard not to cry. I always loved how strong she was. I pride myself on being as masculine as can be, but seeing her wipe away the tears leaking from her beautiful brown eyes almost made me break down. In that instant, I was so angry with myself for leaving. For having to be the one who went and never came back. For being the one who had to break her heart.
The goodbye itself is now a vague memory. The hour passed in a haze of tear-soaked kisses. All I remember thinking was that she was so strong… she could have screamed, sobbed, slapped me. She could have protested, insisted that I stay, and clung on to me. Now I realise that she knew the inevitable. She knew that leaving wasn’t an option for me; I had to do it.
When we broke our embrace, she gave a shaky sniffle, and then an even shakier smile. In that moment, with her hair all askew and her mascara half way down her face, I truly recognised her beauty.
The time came when we had to say goodbye. Our final goodbye. I passed her a large present. I watched with a smile on my face as she unwrapped it. I loved the way her eyes lit up as she realised what it was. As she put on the old jumper of mine that she loved, she said,
“If I keep this, it’s an incentive for you to come back.”
She held out her closed fist, and I held out my open palm. She dropped into it a ring. Engraved on the inside were three words: “dum spiro spero”. Always the romantic, she had reminded me that although she might move on, she would always hope for me to return. If my heart wasn’t broken before, it was shattered into a million pieces at that realisation.
She gave me one last kiss, gently brushing her lips against mine, then she turned and walked away. Through my own tears, I could see her shoulders shaking. She broke into a run as she neared the door. As I turned to walk away, I heard a heart wrenching wail.
It tore me apart, knowing that there was nothing I could do to make it better for her. I knew that one moment would stay in my mind for ever – the moment when I heard her break.
I ran to my car, fumbling with the keys as I tried to unlock the door. I got in, slammed the door, and broke down completely. So much for my masculinity…
I still wear the ring. I still think about her. I’ve been in other relationships, but it’s not the same. I loved her with all of my heart, and I hate myself for leaving. I hated her for a while after I left, because no man should love a woman that much. I still feel an overwhelming guilt for breaking her heart.
From what I hear, she’s happy. She’d been in a relationship with someone for a while, or she was the last I heard of her. She’ll probably get married to him, and I’ll be happy for her if she does. But I can’t go back… for so many reasons, I can’t go back. I feel like I live galaxies away from her, but in fact it’s only the other side of the world.
I’ve not held down a successful relationship since I was with her. Sometimes I feel as though I could take the ring off, throw it as hard as I can into the sea, and just get over her. But I know that if I did, I’d still carry the burden of it on my finger. It wasn’t meant to be a promise ring, just something to remember her by. I’ll never forget her.
I don’t know if she still has the jumper I gave to her. She used to love it, so much so that she used to wear it more than I did.
If I hadn’t left, it might have fallen apart. Or it might have been the most wonderful relationship in the world. But one thing is for sure: if I hadn’t have left, she wouldn’t have met her new man. I guess that sometimes, “goodbye” is a second chance… for her, anyway, my goodbye meant a second chance at love.
When I arrived, she was waiting outside. She was trying so desperately hard not to cry. I always loved how strong she was. I pride myself on being as masculine as can be, but seeing her wipe away the tears leaking from her beautiful brown eyes almost made me break down. In that instant, I was so angry with myself for leaving. For having to be the one who went and never came back. For being the one who had to break her heart.
The goodbye itself is now a vague memory. The hour passed in a haze of tear-soaked kisses. All I remember thinking was that she was so strong… she could have screamed, sobbed, slapped me. She could have protested, insisted that I stay, and clung on to me. Now I realise that she knew the inevitable. She knew that leaving wasn’t an option for me; I had to do it.
When we broke our embrace, she gave a shaky sniffle, and then an even shakier smile. In that moment, with her hair all askew and her mascara half way down her face, I truly recognised her beauty.
The time came when we had to say goodbye. Our final goodbye. I passed her a large present. I watched with a smile on my face as she unwrapped it. I loved the way her eyes lit up as she realised what it was. As she put on the old jumper of mine that she loved, she said,
“If I keep this, it’s an incentive for you to come back.”
She held out her closed fist, and I held out my open palm. She dropped into it a ring. Engraved on the inside were three words: “dum spiro spero”. Always the romantic, she had reminded me that although she might move on, she would always hope for me to return. If my heart wasn’t broken before, it was shattered into a million pieces at that realisation.
She gave me one last kiss, gently brushing her lips against mine, then she turned and walked away. Through my own tears, I could see her shoulders shaking. She broke into a run as she neared the door. As I turned to walk away, I heard a heart wrenching wail.
It tore me apart, knowing that there was nothing I could do to make it better for her. I knew that one moment would stay in my mind for ever – the moment when I heard her break.
I ran to my car, fumbling with the keys as I tried to unlock the door. I got in, slammed the door, and broke down completely. So much for my masculinity…
I still wear the ring. I still think about her. I’ve been in other relationships, but it’s not the same. I loved her with all of my heart, and I hate myself for leaving. I hated her for a while after I left, because no man should love a woman that much. I still feel an overwhelming guilt for breaking her heart.
From what I hear, she’s happy. She’d been in a relationship with someone for a while, or she was the last I heard of her. She’ll probably get married to him, and I’ll be happy for her if she does. But I can’t go back… for so many reasons, I can’t go back. I feel like I live galaxies away from her, but in fact it’s only the other side of the world.
I’ve not held down a successful relationship since I was with her. Sometimes I feel as though I could take the ring off, throw it as hard as I can into the sea, and just get over her. But I know that if I did, I’d still carry the burden of it on my finger. It wasn’t meant to be a promise ring, just something to remember her by. I’ll never forget her.
I don’t know if she still has the jumper I gave to her. She used to love it, so much so that she used to wear it more than I did.
If I hadn’t left, it might have fallen apart. Or it might have been the most wonderful relationship in the world. But one thing is for sure: if I hadn’t have left, she wouldn’t have met her new man. I guess that sometimes, “goodbye” is a second chance… for her, anyway, my goodbye meant a second chance at love.