This is how it would be between us.
On the day of our parting, I would think very little of it. I would await with you the announcement of the departure of your flight. It won’t matter that it’s been held up two hours. It won’t matter, because the terminal would revolve around us. I’ll mock your airline and give you ten silly reasons why I’d rather walk than sit 30,000 feet up in a white and orange contraption. I’ll mock the color of your box as you wheel away into the back of the boarding queue and shout, ‘One day, I’ll come find you’.
Our ceaseless back and forths, the joy of my every day, would attenuate. One day, I’ll get a picture message from you. While I wait for it to download, I will wonder at what ridiculousness you could possibly have found on the internet from your habitual scouring of it. The image would clear up to reveal a wedding invite. It will be yours. ‘You finally deceived someone into marrying you’, I will remark with a coy-face emoji and wait for your signature, ‘Hehehehe’ reply.
One regular night, I’ll come up with the nastiest ‘The Simpsons’ joke and pick up my phone to tell it to you. 9:41pm would stare me in the face, and I’ll have to resist the urge to call a married woman up so late. I will prevail against this urge.
On an afternoon in August, my family would run into yours. It might be the cinemas, amusement park or beach, but it won’t matter. My daughter would have your name, but your son won’t have mine. I’ll steal two glances as you walk away, hoping you would do same, hoping we would share a stare.
One evening, you’ll come online to find R.I.P next to my name. You will hurriedly open my timeline. You will find more of those. If you’re broken, it’ll be your choice to be. My funeral service would miss you, but not the interment. You will honor a promise of decades, to be at the laying down of whichever one of us dies first. When you throw your earth, you’ll realize that your being there matters, but only to you, for I won’t know it.
On a day, almost like any other, you’ll finally be too lazy to breathe, and then the end will come.
In the end, there will be no end. Life would continue, just not ours. And the marks we have made would wait for the sands of time to erase them.