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Fade Out

She was staring at me. I didn’t know what to do, what the proper etiquette for this sort of thing was; I just held out a hand, awkwardly, and hoped it was right.

And she shook it.

“I’ll see you again, sometime,” she said, earnestly, but in her eyes: I never want to see you again.

“That would be nice,” was my response, and in my eyes: Good riddance. Find someone else to leech on. Don’t write.

There was some measure of silence between us, our thoughts on farmers market trips, goofing at the grocery store, our first kiss in the movie theatre; for a moment my eyes said I don’t want to let go, and then she was turning away. As if she’d seen it.

“Goodbye.”

“Have a safe trip.”

It’s easier than saying goodbye.