STRANGER
It was then that the truth truly sank in: he was no longer there. Their time had come and gone, taking with it a piece of her, And left behind were memories, conjured by the faint trace of her on royal blue cushions. But she swiftly quelled the thoughts, those insidious tendrils triggered by the scent and stain left behind from her abandonment of reason. She, always so fastidious. Except, it seemed, when it came to pleasure.
"How? How has it been three months?" The question escaped in whispered disbelief. Three months of silence, sculpting a stranger where vibrant desire once thrived. Perhaps "estranged" was a more fitting word now, with self-imposed barriers firmly in place. It was better this way, she reasoned—the dull hum, the level mind, the quiet heart.
There was a strange awkwardness in exchanging words utterly devoid of emotion, of agenda. "WYD?" – bold and urgent in its inquiry, once a naughty suggestion, a playful initiation – was now a relic of the past. Frivolity and fun found no home here. Only the polite courtesies remained: "Please," "Keep well," "Take care." Neutral words, she discovered, made excellent barriers. And time, she knew, had a way of taming even the most unbridled hearts.
"Promise me you'll stay this time and see this thing through!" Abby had written, her plea earnest, her soul weary of the endless dance. She doubted he was truly plugged in. The day she sent that message, she knew the outcome: raw and real rarely resonated with fantasy friends.
Abby nodded, repeating her new mantra: "This is better. This is much, much better."
Then his name appeared in her inbox. She'd brought it there, willed it to come. But this time, she didn't flinch. She'd done enough flinching lately – his words, angry, abrupt, hard, damaging.
She braced herself, expecting the familiar jolt: the heat spreading through her body, her heart racing, her pulse quickening. She anticipated the thrill, the rush, the tingling, the fever. So much expected.
Yet, nothing.
Only a profound calmness, a touch of relief. She was finally seeing him in a different light, recognizing that they had, in their own way, redefined their connection into something that worked for both of them.
"I don't want us to be strangers again," she wrote, "but I know we can't be friends." She meant every word. Some people, she realized, are never truly meant for goodbye. These are the ones you hold close in thought, the ones you allow yourself, every so often, to say "Hello" to, and mean just that.