Monday, 9 June 2014


I could tell he was leaving me.  I could feel it in the way he had walked up to me and held me in that desperate clutch reserved for airport goodbyes.  It was the kind of hug shared between graduating seniors, who promised to stay in touch, but whose lives would take a different path even before the summer ends.  It was the hug you give a dying relative, praying that on your strength they would hold on for one more day.  It was the hug of self denial.  He would never remember it was he who had left; he who had pulled away leaving me flailing helplessly to make it on my own.  He would later remark that I had moved on quickly, and he wondered if he had ever really mattered to me. How could I ever answer him, when he was the only man that had given me courage, the same courage that helped me to walk away and never look back?