As we walked out to the lake, away from the streets that run like rapids, I knew I was in bad shape. I had a feeling, almost physically tangible, that today was going to hurt.
I could tell by the way her hand sat lifelessly in mine, as if she wanted to remove it but was just biding her time.
I've never been one to prolong the painfully evident, or placate the evidently painful, so I asked the obvious and dangerous question. "What's wrong?" I said, flippantly.
As if today was just another day and I wanted to know how she wanted her eggs that morning.
We watched the lazy ducks in the overcast gloom and I felt a relief, as if we were finally approaching the verdict, and my life hung in the balance.
I almost laughed to myself as these thoughts imparted themselves in my mind--"so melodramatic..." was my hilarity. It wasn't as if I was facing the death penalty. But I WAS losing my girl.
I could see that in the way she answered my question before a clumsy word left her flawless lips. By the way her smile turned strained then faded.
She steadied herself with the kind of breath a doctor draws before he tells you simply,"there's nothing more we can do".
I closed my eyes and braced myself, as if the impact was a surprise and not something I had accepted before we came anywhere near this stupid lake.
She stammered through her speech like an unprepared valedictorian, all graceless and mindful of my feeble pride.
I love her for this, as even in the end, she always paid heed to other people's feelings. I nodded along, not an interjection in the world can bring someone back who has already gone from you.
She turned away at last, the formality had come to fruition, and strode with purpose toward her newly single life.
She looked radiant and beautiful, as if the last two years lost had as much impact on her as changing body wash.
What can you do when you lose your muse, your heart, the one you thought was going to see you into the ground?
I sat and watched the ducks nip at each other and wished I was anywhere and anytime else.