I felt your scarf slip from my fingers as the wind lifted it gently away and understood before I looked up that you had already chosen the sky over staying. The fabric fluttered once between us and then the air closed where you had been standing as if it had practiced this disappearance many times before. The overlook sat above the valley where fields blurred into distance and clouds dragged their shadows slowly across the land. Late afternoon light thinned and cooled and the smell of dry grass mixed with dust and stone. I stood at the edge with my hands empty listening to the wind move through tall weeds…

I heard your voice travel across the water and fail to return and felt your fingers loosen from mine as the ripples spread without answering. The dock creaked once beneath our weight and then held only me and the dark where you had been standing. The lake lay still under a sky without stars. Pines ringed the water and held the cold close. The air smelled of iron and wet stone and the damp wood pressed chill through my coat. I stood at the edge listening for anything that might come back. The silence did not hurry. It settled as if it knew this moment by heart. By the time…

I watched your footprints fill with snow before you reached the bend in the road and felt your hand loosen from mine as if the cold had learned your shape and asked you to belong to it instead. The sound of your steps thinned and then disappeared and the quiet that followed felt practiced as though it had been waiting. The village lay under a clean white hush. Roofs bowed gently and smoke lifted straight from chimneys before vanishing. My breath clouded the air and settled on my scarf and the wool scratched my throat. I stood where the path narrowed and listened to the way winter holds sound until…

I heard the clock stop between one breath and the next and felt your fingers ease from my sleeve as if time itself had decided to let you go first. The second hand hovered without commitment and the room cooled around the space where you had been standing. The shop smelled of oil and old wood and rain carried in on my coat. Light from the streetlamp pressed through the front window and caught on a thousand small surfaces glass faces brass rims hairline cracks that had learned patience. I stood behind the counter listening to the absence of ticking settle into the walls. When I finally looked up you…

I watched the fogged window clear where your breath had been and felt your warmth pull away from my shoulder as if the day itself had decided to take you back. The glass cooled under my fingers and the room settled into a silence that knew your name and would not speak it again. The apartment faced the harbor where boats slept against their ropes and gulls rehearsed their cries before sunrise. Pale light slid across the floor and found the places we had learned to stand together. The kettle clicked itself off without ceremony. I did not turn because turning felt like agreement. Somewhere behind me a floorboard eased…

I felt your shadow lift from the wall before your body moved and knew the room would never hold us the same way again. The candle flame bent toward the door as if following you and when it straightened I understood that whatever had kept you here had already begun to loosen. The room smelled of salt and old wood soaked with years of tide. Outside the lighthouse the sea breathed in long patient pulls and released itself against the rocks below. Wind threaded through the cracks and carried a low hollow sound that felt like listening. I stood with my back to the wall watching the place where your…

I felt the door close with the memory of your hand still on the handle and knew before I turned that you had not crossed the threshold with me. The latch settled into place with a sound too gentle for an ending and the air where you stood cooled as if it had been waiting to be emptied. The hallway smelled of old paper and dust warmed by afternoon light. Sun pressed through the narrow window and lay across the floor in a long pale stripe that did not reach my feet. I stood still listening to the building breathe around me and tried to understand how a space could…

I heard the church bells begin without us and felt your shoulder pull away from mine as if the sound itself had decided which of us could remain. The door between the nave and the night closed softly and your breath left my skin before I could turn to follow it. Cold gathered in the stone the way memory gathers in the body. Candles shivered and steadied and the smell of wax and old incense clung to the air. I stood where we had stood together and pressed my fingers into my palm to keep from reaching for you again. Outside the bells counted time with a patience that felt…

I felt your fingers slip from mine at the station door while the rain pressed its cold mouth against the glass and the sound of your breath faded before I could say anything that might have kept you. The door closed softly as if it did not want to be noticed and the echo of it settled into my chest where it stayed long after your footsteps were gone. The platform smelled of wet stone and old metal. Light from the overhead lamps trembled as rain slid down the wires and gathered at the edges of the world. I stood still because moving felt like admitting that what had just…

She knew she had waited too long when the door finally opened and the air on the other side did not recognize her. The handle turned easily. That was what broke her. For years it had resisted like a held breath and now it gave way without warmth or welcome. The corridor beyond lay dim and still. Dust hung in a narrow column of light and settled without disturbance. She stood with her hand on the wood feeling the last shape of hope collapse into something quieter and heavier. The leaving had already happened. She had simply arrived to witness the after. She stepped inside and closed the door behind…