It was the last dance, on the last night, on the last car of a misbehaving subway train. With her.
It was a summer's worth of passing lights, fireflies in such a hurry past the spider-webbing windows. We didn't move; we glided. We didn't shake; we shivered. The world didn't wait for us, it just fell farther behind. The beat was too fast, so we hummed and breathed each other in so slow, so close together. I breathed in. The fireflies hit concrete, blurring broad like nebulae.
Her eyes met mine. When all the world waited on my baited breath, only she could ever keep on going. Only she could break my grip on everything I couldn't handle yet. Only she wouldn't wait.
"I love you," she whispered, kissing the wet spot on my right cheek. It resisted the press of her lips. Hot-frozen salt held hard against my rigid skin. "But I can't follow you, not this time." Her words caught, but she pushed hard. "Some things, I just can't change. Some things..."
She turned, looking out into the bright light of the midnight city ahead. At the broken, gaping gap where destiny waited for me. "Some things are better never known. I'm sorry I told you."
She kissed my other cheek. My lungs burned. My muscles should have screamed in outrage, too, but they hung somewhere out of time. Otherwise, I would have held her close or strangled her to death for this, for all of this. My lips stuck so tight together, "I love you" and "Don't let me go" had to fight the sucked-down sobs and the swearing trapped behind my crushed-together teeth.
"But I'm glad, too," she said, with that unmistakable goodbye weight . "Not everybody gets to meet their soul mate. I'm not sorry for that." She faked a smile that cracked something inside her. Then she exhaled.
Then she was gone, back in her place, her time. Back in her town. Safe. I wanted to smile.
So I did. I finally exhaled. The car and all the weight in my throat hurtled out to kiss open air.
It was then, that moment, that very second when it all turned out to be true. Destiny happened.
And I fell. Hard.
Prompt: An restorative Anonymous asked me:
The Cure, Love Song.
(c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins. Seeking writing prompts, affection, detection, and genuflection.