The Gold

When the time came for us to say goodbye and we embraced, the words, “I love you” sat silently on my lips. I felt it, but unsure that she did too, I was paralyzed to utter three simple syllables.
By the time it was all a memory, that silence haunted me. The silence of the next few days ached like a bruised bone. It was an ache that I’d felt for most of my life. The difference was that the years in between had dulled the pain. But now, the wound was fresh.
I’d spent so many years convincing myself that I didn’t need her; that her ambivalence was inconsequential. But the recent memory of her body against mine ripped the wound open once more. Even worse, my feelings for her were stronger than ever.
I’ve told the specifics of this story at least ten times to mixed results. “It’s about her, not you” was the most comforting. Those five words resonate in my head when I’m the least at peace with it. But my own thoughts always drown them out.
I see what could have been; what could be. I sketch her face in my mind. I hear her voice in the silence. I feel my hand on the small of her back while I lie in bed, restless and alone.
But none of that matters. It’s a ghost that I can’t keep chasing. It’s fool’s gold. The silence a constant reminder.
