「 September 7th 」

December 31st, I'm onto the next life is what you told me all those weeks ago.

My chest constricted, my eyes shut and my palms began to sweat. All I heard was you were leaving me.

"What're you thinking about?" You ask as you roll out dough. That same night you rescued me from my torturer and told me stories of your mother, I mentioned that I'd like to try one of her recipes.

I didn't think you'd do it but why wasn't surprised. You listened to me- very much so.

"Nothing." I lied.

Everything was the truth.

I didn't want to seem desperate. But I'd fallen in love with you. And isn't that what love is? A desperation for another being- a pull so strong you hold on so it doesn't slip through your fingers?

But we were different in that aspect. I think I'd always known it. I got attached, you stay detached.

My friends had warned me, but I was too far in to stop now.

"Come here please."

When I got to you, you did your hands of any flour and held my face in them. You were warm. "Yes?"

"I'm not abandoning you." You are.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"We never put a label on what this was. I shouldn't have been surprised."

"That isn't fair." You said. For the first time since I'd met you, I pulled away from your touch. It had become cold and shocking (not the good way). "I may come back." Was that supposed to make me feel any better?

"Ok."

"I don't want to fight with you love. I want us to enjoy the time we have left." You reached for me again, however cold you felt right now didn't take away from the comfort.

"Let's enjoy it then." I sounded passive.

But inside I was distraught. All my mind could conjure up was an image of a clock. A countdown.

An end.