I watched you as you walked away, you know.

You didn’t know it, of course — but that’s what I did. I watched you walk away from me, as I stood there waiting for the streetlights to change.

The metaphor of it all struck me.

There I was, not ready yet to say goodbye. You were headed in one direction, me in another. It was dark.

You started walking and never once looked back. Not once. I watched and waited, willing you to pause and ponder and turn — but you didn’t. Of course you didn’t.

When the lights finally changed, I left the curb and crossed over to what seemed to be more than just the other side of the street. The distance between us seemed like more than just a few blocks.

I left. I didn’t do it because I wanted to — I did it because I had to, because it was time.

You had walked away from me — again — and for the last time.