Comma

I looked at him through new eyes.

"Pathetic," I thought and my heart broke.

He stared back at me, oblivious as to what I was thinking. Or maybe not
so oblivious.

"Why can't you be who I want you to be?" I thought.

He stared at me oblivious as to what I was thinking. Or maybe not so
oblivious.

I looked away, desperate for the tears not to well up into my eyes.

"I wish I'd met you at a different time in my life," he said, "this
isn't working."

And I wished I could kiss him. I wished my kiss would silence him. I
wished my kiss would right things. I closed my eyes tightly wishing it
was all a dream.

I wished I would never love another as I did him in that moment. For in
that moment, I knew the meaning of inconvenient love. I also knew the
meaning of all-encompassing, can't-breathe-without-you love.

And then, we parted ways as if there were a comma in our sentence. There
was never a period. We both knew that his was not the end. Rather, a
pause in our story. And in that moment, I was comforted and afraid. I
needed a definite end. I needed for that chapter to close so that I
could compartmentalize yet another someone in my life, forget about him,
and move on.

My heart was still hogtied to his and as we walked away from each other,
I felt it rip from my chest. Pulsating on the ground before me, I was
helpless.

I let myself walk away.