Before it Ends

It's the kind of cold that creeps into your bones. The streets are now covered in layers of snow and the constant chatter of my teeth continues to echo inside my head. My fingers ache as I reach for yours, placing my hand in your pocket. I feel your palm press against mine, but you never turn your head to look at me. I miss the weather when we were on the train to New York and It was like the colors of the trees were dancing off your skin, with the sun peering in through the window. You would glance over and I could see the reflection of myself looking across at you in your eyes. I like remembering when we used to be our favorite people to watch. I pull my hand back to open the door for you and I watch as you walk past me like the stranger who forgot to say thank you.

We order our drinks and sit down at the end, in a corner booth by the window. Your head leans back, with your eyes glowing in the sun as they follow the people walking by. I look at you and you're not there. It's like I lost you somewhere under the waves of independently made decisions you make as an adult and we resurfaced as different people. Maybe it was after your mother died, or maybe it was when we settled on a dog instead of a baby, but I'm left hoping the positives out weigh the negatives in the moments we've collected. You've grown from the girl who's shoes I tied after changing out of her heels at the bar, to becoming the woman I want to marry, but I look at you and wonder how to find her again. You look down at your coffee and lightly blow on the edge just before taking a sip. Your nose curls and your lips pucker as you lower your cup. After years of careful observation, I know that means it's still too hot; you've never been one to handle extremes well. I’ve grown to love our silent communication that feels a lot like being alone, but in the moments that I want someone, I feel the cold touch of longing as you lay in bed next to me. I lift my arm across the table, reaching my hand to your forearm. I look at you with eyes that are trying to tell you that I need someone and I wait for you to notice.

Sometimes I think about ending it. I think about explaining how this isn't enough for me, but then you look at me, and who I am is reflected through your eyes and it's like I can truly see myself again. Sometimes I wonder what that reflection would look like if it wasn't coming from you. Sometimes I wonder if the only reason our relationship has continued to work is because I love the feeling of being alone. I don’t feel lonely when I'm on my own, but it lingers as I watch you stare out the window. You turn your head and smile as if I’d just said something funny. You ask me how my coffee is and I realize I'd forgotten to drink it. We sit there awhile before you begin to gather your things. I grab your hand and tell you we should go home. You kiss my cheek as we walk back into the frigid cold.

Later that night, you read a book as I cook dinner. You wanted take out, but I insisted on cooking for you, mainly to save the money. I set the table for two and offer you a glass of wine, Red cabernet. I’ve grown to hate alcohol, but it always feels appropriate in celebration. Three years ago it would have been a celebration, we would’ve invited people over just to put our love on display, but today feels more somber. You meet me in the dining room and you've changed into that deep red dress that hangs just below your knee. We cheers to five years of commitment and for a moment, just after I kiss you, I feel like you're there with me. I still remember the first time you wore that dress. You were begging me to meet your friends from college and I was just as nervous as I was excited. With you, I found there was nothing to be afraid of. You coddled me all night and I carried you the whole way home. It was the first time you made me feel things I didn't believe in anymore. After dinner, I play our favorite song. I put my arm just below the curve of your waistline and gently pull you in to rest your head on my shoulder and we slow dance in the living room until the candles burn out.