Elijah James

9

You wait in Tompkins Square Park because he asked. Twilight clings to the trees, soft and gold, just like the last time. You wore that green coat again—he once said it made you look like a painting. When he appears, everything inside you stops. He’s quieter now. Thinner. Sadder. But you’d still find him in any crowd. He doesn’t say why he left, and you don’t ask. You just let him hold you like he used to. It feels like forgiveness. You don’t tell him that you memorized his goodbye—“This isn’t goodbye.” You repeated it like a prayer when the nights got long. And now, standing in his arms again, you know it was the lie. Maybe the only one. But it undid everything. You want to believe he’s staying, even now. You almost ask him to. But you don’t. You give him the gift of silence. Let him leave with dignity. You smile. You let him go. Because even if you were the girl he lied to… You were also the one he came back to. One last time. 5 years later and 2000 miles from anyone you know you see a familiar face...