"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing."

Part of me wishes this was over with, and I was on a train back to Halifax, alone. He on a train to Toronto, alone. So that the healing could begin. I could eat junkfood, read bad novels, and figure out why I'm better off without him. If he leaves before I do, maybe I could gather Leah and Heather and Alexa and Jeff into my livingroom for comisseration. Now, instead, I go and spend time with him, half of me somewhere else, and try not to feel unhappy. There doesn't seem much point, sometimes.

Instead we pretend like maybe things won't end, maybe we can salvage it in a weeks time. Just so we can grab this last week of comfort off of each other. But every time we kiss goodbye I wonder what our real goodbye kiss will be like, every time he comes to cuddle and watch a movie I wonder if it's the last time. Still, though, I want it, don't want to end this prematurely. I'll miss him.

I love him, no matter what. Maybe I don't love him in the right way, but I do love him. Closing myself off and wishing myself gone is not the right thing to do, especially when he is still as open and as honest as a child. I'm leaving him when he has done nothing to deserve it. But I can't seem to stop.