When I reached your door and let my hand fall back to my side instead of lifting it I knew the silence between us had finally become something I could not cross and my breath slowed as if my body already understood. The hallway was narrow and warm smelling faintly of detergent and old paint. Light leaked from under your door a thin line steady and unbothered. Somewhere above a pipe knocked softly then stopped. I stood close enough to hear movement inside your apartment a chair shifting a quiet step and I wondered if you were thinking of me at all or if that hope had already learned to…

When your name lit the phone beside my bed and I watched it vibrate itself into silence I understood with a steady clarity that answering would only return me to a place I had already left. The room was still dark. Early light pressed faintly at the edges of the curtains but had not yet committed. The sheets were cool where you used to sleep. My phone stopped moving and the quiet that followed felt deliberate almost chosen. I lay there staring at the ceiling listening to my own breathing and the distant sound of traffic beginning its day without us. I did not reach for the phone after it…

When I closed the door as quietly as I could and felt the latch catch without resistance I knew the sound you did not hear would change everything and my hand lingered on the knob as if waiting for permission that would not come. The hallway was dim and cool and smelled faintly of cleaning solution and old paper. Early light crept in through a narrow window at the end of the corridor turning dust into something almost gentle. I stood there listening for any movement behind the door breathing shallowly afraid that even breath might call you back into the moment. Nothing stirred. The silence accepted my leaving too…

When you stepped forward without checking if I was beside you and the crowd closed the space you left behind I understood with a steady ache that the moment I had been preparing for had finally arrived and I did not reach for you. The station smelled of dust and warm metal. Late afternoon light filtered through high windows and landed unevenly on the floor. Voices echoed and overlapped. Announcements blurred into noise. I stood still holding my ticket between my fingers feeling its thin edge bend while you moved ahead pulled by purpose or habit or something I no longer knew how to name. For a few seconds I…

When I slowed my steps so you might notice and you kept walking without looking back the space between us widened quietly and I felt the decision settle in my chest before my mind caught up. The street was narrow and still warm from the day. Shop lights flickered on one by one casting uneven pools of yellow across the pavement. Somewhere a window was open and music drifted out softened by distance. Our footsteps echoed differently now yours steady mine hesitant. I watched your back the familiar slope of your shoulders and understood with a calm that surprised me that this was not a misunderstanding. It was an ending…

When I asked you to stay and you looked at the floor long enough for the kettle to begin screaming I knew the answer had already formed in the quiet and my hands went cold before the room did. Steam fogged the small kitchen windows and curled toward the ceiling. The light above the stove flickered slightly the way it always did when it rained. Outside the city hummed low and distant. Inside there was only the sound of boiling water and the weight of everything you did not say. I leaned against the counter pretending I needed the support. You stood across from me motionless as if waiting for…

When you stepped back under the awning instead of toward me and let the rain decide the distance I understood without clarity that whatever we had been holding open had finally closed and the sound of water filled the space where my answer should have been. The street shone like it had been polished by hand. Reflections trembled with every drop. A bus hissed past and left a cold breath behind. I stood in the open feeling the rain soak through my shirt while you stayed dry watching the sidewalk as if it required study. My hair dripped into my eyes. I did not wipe it away. I waited for…

When the apartment door clicked shut between us and your footsteps faded down the stairwell I pressed my palm to the wood too late feeling only the after vibration where your presence had been. The hallway light flickered weakly casting a sick yellow glow across peeling paint and scuffed floors. Somewhere below a door slammed and a radio played a song I did not recognize. The air smelled of dust and cold metal. I stood there longer than necessary listening to the building settle as if it might speak on our behalf. It did not. Inside the apartment the quiet was immediate and absolute. Your scarf still hung on the…

When you called my name from the other side of the closing train doors the sound reached me after the glass sealed and I saw your mouth still forming it while my reflection replaced your face. The platform smelled of metal dust and old rain trapped underground. A rush of warm air followed the train as it began to move pulling papers and echoes with it. I stood too close to the edge holding my bag with both hands as if it might anchor me. You stayed where you were palms pressed flat against the window and then you were gone leaving only the echo of my name stretched thin…

When the crosswalk signal blinked red and you stepped back instead of forward I knew without understanding that whatever had brought us there was already finished and my hand hovered uselessly where your sleeve had been a moment before. Rain had just started not enough to commit to but enough to darken the pavement and blur reflections into something untrustworthy. The city sounded muffled as if cotton had been pressed into its ears. Cars idled. Someone coughed behind us. You watched the traffic with a focus that felt practiced and I watched you learning the shape of your profile as if I might need it later when you were gone.…