This is a freestyle writing piece that I’m polishing for a novel.
Stop all contact.
The words break me in half.
I watch his lips repeat these words. Everything is a blurred motion, the streaks of the waiter and passing crowds color the background. In high school, I learned the trick in a photography class. I still use it in my working life. But we are close to frozen, moving like cold molasses on a frosty day. The time that it takes for him to cover my hand feel like years. For my brain to process the words that come after that statement, it is a slow wind from his tongue and lips to the part of me that understands. I read through all the lines inserting my truthiness and the real truth in between it all.
I hoped for closure. A final goodbye. A final kiss. The ending sex which is never as good as break up sex but would do because I would have him one more time.
I hoped for him. For us. With these words, the hope is gone.
I have to close the shutter on this frame. I have to end this and develop the photo. All I will have is this moment. I close my eyes to take it all in. The last time. The finale to us.
