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Goodbye

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Standing on my front porch for the last time, I try not letting the word “goodbye” slip past my lips. Except at the same time saying “see ya” or “talk to ya later” just wasn’t good enough either. I was looking at him differently now. When I looked at Devin it was usually just to make eye contact. Now I was only memorizing. Each freckle on his cheek to every little dimple from his smile- memorized.

* * *


It’s funny how you suddenly remember all the things you wish you would’ve done differently as you make your last impression on somebody in person. You wish you would’ve told them things you didn’t. You wish you wouldn’t have told them things you did. You wish you would’ve been there for them the times you weren’t. You wish you would’ve been more patient, more loving, more observant. Sometimes people even wish these things as they hang up the phone fighting, as they toss the dark red rose on the coffin, as they say “I do” on the altar.

We had been pretty good friends for several months, Devin and I, but not until February did he ask me to be his girlfriend. We grew closer every minute spent with each other, not only as a couple, but as best friends, too. He could take one glance at me and know exactly what I was feeling. When I smiled, he smiled. When he was hurt, I was hurt. I could look at him and see my reflection staring right back. We were each others other halves. Nothing less. Usually people say bye to each other assuming they’ll see one another again soon, or the next day even. Well it was different for us. In late May Devin’s family had decided moving to Colorado would bring the best opportunities in hockey for him. Spending time with Devin after that was different. After, like with a capitol A, not a moment of our precious time together was taken for granted.

A memory is defined as a recollection, something remembered from the past. So why is it we remember the goodbyes the most? Most people say you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone, but as for me, I knew exactly what I was going to be missing.

* * *


Our hands fit together like two matching pieces of a jig-saw puzzle, except now his were being broken apart from mine, tearing the picture in half. He turns to head for car, his feet barely trudging below him. Still memorizing every detail, every move made, I count his steps.

“I’ll be seeing you, Dev.” 18 steps.





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