Birds

You loved watching birds on the sidewalk.

I remember. It was October, right in the middle of fall. It wasn't quite dusk yet ("You need to sleep, sun!" "Five more minutes, mother sky!"), but all the children had gone home. I had a cup of lukewarm coffee and a faraway gaze when you sat right next to me. I knew it was you. The bench creaked at just the right pitch for your weight, and your shoes scraped against the concrete, smack and popper. You didn't talk, not for a little while. I think you were waiting for me.

I turned my head slightly, peeking from the corner of my eye. Same coat, same stubble, same bright scarf that used to dangle off my nape. You tapped your cigarette on the street like the world was your ashtray. I think that's what made me knock on the silence.

"I miss you."

I wasn't really surprised. I meant it. You seemed to be, though. You choked a bit on your next drag and I couldn't help but smirk when your eyes watered; I was always trying to shock you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I heard everything in that word. Can you take out the trash, please? Yeah. Can I borrow this shirt? Yeah. Do you love me? Yeah. Sometimes it wasn't sincere. Most of the time it was. I tried again.

"How are you?"

You took bit longer to reply this time. You chewed on your sentences, deciding if you should just spit them out or swallow. I guess it was a habit you picked up from being with me.

"I've... been better."

"Seeing anyone?"

I was curious. I saw a new tattoo on your wrist where your sleeve drew back, a curl of script, a name. I wondered if it was close to mine. Then I wondered who it belonged to, what kind of person they were, what they looked like. I wondered if they made you happy.

You only shrugged. I guess I deserved that. You held onto things longer than I do, and I should have known. I should have known. The fact that I didn't, the fact that I'd forgotten, was proof.

"Wanna grab some coffee?"

Proof that I can't say yes to that, not ever again. No matter how many times you ask, how many times you try. You deserve someone who will stay of their own volition; I'm sorry I couldn't be that for you.

"No, not really," I said, raising up my fourth-filled coffee cup. I should have probably thrown it away, but that would have spoiled the charade.

I pretended not to hear the yearning in your tone. "I'll buy you a cinnamon roll."

I looked at you, then, eyes tempting me with sweetness, so desperate to get some of that sweetness back. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

"I'm good."

A feather sigh; the only moments you were ever soft. You stumped out your cigarette under a spiked boot. I wished you wouldn't look so defeated. I wished I could make you understand that you won, even if it seems otherwise. In a few years you would have someone on your arm, and I would still be here, turning down coffee and warmth in my bed. I wished I didn't always have to leave.

You only cracked a smile before you left, when all the pigeons fluttered their wings and flew away. I hoped, then, that you understood.

I loved watching birds in the sky.