He hold out the door and smiles. I walk out and say, "Thank you." He closes it, and waits for me to say something. But I don't. I wish he would say something. I wish he'd said he felt that something that keeps me awake, thinking about him, the thing that I try to deny, but now that I stand face to face with 'goodbye', I realise whatever that was, and that I fought it for naught.

I want to yell out, "Do you remember? The night we met? How you went on to talk about how I looked like I enjoyed reading Sylvia Plath? Do you remember? The following week? How I asked you what your favourite book was and ran to the bookstore to buy it and read it front to back? Although I had my own books I looked forward to reading, I put that book you liked first and looked at it as though it was sacred. As I though must retain every single word."

But I didn't. And he didn't say anything, and neither have I. 

It must have all been in my head. 

I wonder if I had allowed myself to feel it, would it have been real? Or is it all a delusion? 

And I wanted to scream out, "Did you realise? That I was dying to see your face? Did you realise? That my heart beat faster when you sat down next to me?"

But I didn't.

And he looked bored of standing out in the March cold, so I break the silence and say, trying to act unfazed, "So, I guess this is it."

He puts his hands in his pockets, actually unfazed, "Yeah, I guess."

"I hope I don't come across as obsolete, but 'farewell'."

He laughs, and a thought rings in my head a bit too loud, the wish that he would kiss me. That he'd tell me it wouldn't have to end.

But he just shrugs and says, "Good riddance."

And walks in the opposite direction. But I stand there. Watch him walk away. Until he randomly stops, looks back at me, and tilts his head. And then walks on.

I guess he didn't remember.