It is a horribly familiar situation. Waiting for a response from the other person.
Desperate for them to say they are thinking the same thing and I am not wrong in clinging to that last piece of hope. I have lost all my pride. I don’t like to admit it, but I might have even begged.
In my heart of heart, I know that they don’t feel the same way, but just now all possibilities exist at once. Maybe it’s not all over. Maybe I get a second chance at this.
I physically ache. It’s the uncertainty and the fast-approaching inevitable. It’s coming at me like an express train – those little words that will usher in reality. Words that will force me to start dealing with the consequences of this unholy mess.
Losing you is hard, but it is more than that. It’s the loss of possibility, the places we could have gone, the things we could have seen together, the freedom that stormed into my life with your arrival.
It is also the knowledge that it is my fault. If I had been paying attention, if I had not been day dreaming, I would have seen the inevitable crash coming and could have done something to avoid it.
I am waiting. Always waiting.
And then all of a sudden the music stops and a disembodied voice delivers the inevitable:
“I am sorry Miss Sawyer but I am afraid that the car is simply not worth enough to consider repairing and we have to write it off.”
You are out of my life for good.