Prose
The Death of Love
by Jeff Okay
It's over. Say it again, it's over.

You knew it might happen someday, but you could not see it coming. Not now, not here. You sit dumbfounded on the curb with your head in your hands, cursing yourself and your god of choice. You had tried to keep everything safe, but no matter what you did, your own stupidity returned to you in the end.

You had become accustomed to the way it felt, mastering all the faults, knowing where there might be problems, knowing what needed lubrication. Sure, not everything worked perfectly, not all the time, but you were comfortable. Who knew things would change so quickly? How could such happiness vanish overnight? Not now. There were so many places left to go together, so many things you had not yet done, and so much you did not yet say. Now it is over.

You might meet someday, but it would not be the same. Not now. You would not be able to speak a word. Instead, you will go on looking for another to try to take the place of the one you held dear. You will find something that will not quite fit right - some parts that not work and other parts that are not the same - and you will know that at that moment, somewhere in this co-dependent city, someone else is riding what was once yours.

You may be happy eventually, when the memories fade and you get used to what you have, but in some way you will always look back on what once you had and think, "I could have tried harder." Not now, not here. Say it again, it's over.

Damn if you don't miss that bicycle tonight.
Posted by: Jeff Okay

Prose (January 3rd, 2007)