Goodbye, B.

After so many years, you called. That part of me hadn’t hurt in a while, but I welcome the pain, it’s warm.

I hadn’t thought of you in years. Perhaps the last time I really did was when I landed in Bucharest three years ago, and you weren’t there waiting for me. I’d never felt so cold.

I picked up the phone convinced it couldn’t really be you, even though I still knew your number. When I heard your voice my hands trembled and I couldn’t tell if I needed to smile or cry. I smiled and you said you missed me. I asked why now. You said nothing ever changed. I asked again and you said you were bitter, you still hurt since I pushed you away. You’ve wanted to call for years but held that grudge; like I knew you would.

You’re coming to London with business and you want to meet. You were shocked when I refused. You too know I’ll always love you and couldn’t believe I can be so cold. I said ‘I have to go’ and you stuttered. I said ‘I love you, B’ like I always used to say, and hung up.

Now I cried. But it wasn’t the heartbroken cry I knew. I cried like old people cry for the past, for the joyful days they can never re-live. I cried because I’ll always be yours, and because I never was. And I’d love to see you B, but I know you can’t take it. We’d be back where we were all those years ago; you ready to ruin your life for a dream, and me breaking you heart once again…


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