finale

/fɪˈnɑːli,fɪˈnɑːleɪ/

noun

It’s 11:34pm when I hear a knock. I get up from the floor where I’m laid down, waiting for that someone to get here, and approach the entrance of my apartment. I turn the knob door and she comes in.

Her hands that reach for my waist are cold from the low temperature outside. She kisses me with so much fervor, so much ardor, but I can’t seem to do the same.

We move to the sofa. She’s sweet as always, takes my hand and interlocks our fingers. Her thumb runs on the back of my hand, gently and lovingly. 

She asks about my day, work and family because she really cares about me and knows about my personal struggles.

I do ask about her week too. I do it out of curiosity, not because I need to. She’s someone close to me; I deeply care about her and really want the best for her. We opened ourselves, exposed ourselves in front of each other; the insecurities, fears... all of that disclosed early on, when we were just friends.

There is silence between us, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. We always enjoyed each other’s presence and never thought words need to be spoken to maintain a steady and cozy ambiance. We like it.

Time passes like that. I feel she’s looking at me, but I continue “watching” the TV like I don’t realize her eyes are on me. After a while, she tells me I look pensive and asks about my thoughts.

I’ve been thinking about this for the last weeks we have not seen each other, but when it’s time to say it, the words get stuck in my throat and my thoughts are all over the place.

I miss a few beats but she does not say anything. She waits. She’s patient and I love that about her. She knows how to give me space.

This is something I should do, so I tell her. I tell her I’ve been thinking for a long time and that I do not see a future in the relationship.

I know she has heard me, but