The snow cascades down in front of me, twisting and curling in the air. The breeze is frigid, even icy, and leaves little bites across my face. My skin is cold, my bones are cold, my heart is cold–even my eyeballs would have goosebumps if that were possible. But I sit outside anyway. I sit outside in the wooden chair, and it’s like I’m sitting at this same table across from you again, trying to make out your face in the dark as you choke up and tell me what I’ve always longed to hear.
But you aren’t sitting here anymore, and even if you were, I still wouldn’t tell you how much I want to hear it again. That I’ll wait twice–no, three–no, five, ten, a hundred times as long as I already have all over again for you. As if I have a choice.
No, I don’t tell you I’ll wait. Instead, I’ll tell you something much worse. Because maybe, just maybe, I can keep you from waiting, too.
–
The script burns a hole in my pocket. The little bullet-pointed checklist whispers to me like a ghost every second that we’re together. I have an explanation for everything, an answer for everything, some things realistic enough to make sense, but some things so astronomically far from the truth that I’m not sure how to make you swallow them down.
I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, but there’s a first time for everything. I know my lines and they throb between my teeth while I work up the strength to push them out. The dessert coats my tongue, the salt sliding down my throat like mud, and I try not to visibly shake.
We drive around and around, the asphalt, grass, trees, homes, and mountains all blurring into an absurdist haze behind the windows while I convince myself this is the right thing to do, that it’s better for you this way. That if I push hard enough and in just the right spot, you’ll be able to escape the pain–you’ll be able to escape me.
Eventually, I spit it out, my delivery stilted over the memorized words. I cut us right in half, our hearts tearing away from each other to become separate beings again. To make you your own, to make me alone.
I lie and lie and lie to you. And I hope to god that it sets you free.