There was a lump in his throat, suddenly parched to the point of cracking. He cleared it as best he could.
"I'm here," he said. "And I will be."
She turned back to him with eyes a million miles away. Yet he knew she was listening.
"Regardless of anything else, I want you to remember this: we're friends. Not in a casual, polite, superficial way. But in the true sense of the word. I'm here for you. And I'll always be. You'll get tired of me for one reason or another; probably sooner than later. I'll watch you slowly slip away when the time comes, pretending that I don't notice, because I know it's what you want. You'll tell me otherwise again and again. But that will let me know without a doubt that you're as good as gone. But I'll still be here. I'll watch as you walk away from here and get in his car. I'll feel the rhythmic thump in my chest as he drives by and flashes me a triumphant grin while you're looking the other way.
I'll sit here for a while and wonder why I do this to myself. I'll wish that I was someplace or somebody else and wallow for a while. I'll get so angry at you and then I'll take it out on me. I've never been a fighter (which I guess is why we're here in the first place). I mean, after all, anything you've done, I let you do to me, right? I'm a man for God's sake! Shouldn't I be strong enough for you, me, and anyone else that might come along?
I know I'm not the easiest person to be around. God knows I can't do it somedays. You say you feel like we don't talk anymore. The silence is deafening, you say. But what I can't explain is how those silences are when I get to take you in. The music of your breath, in and out and in and out; your scent dancing through the room and melting me away to nothing; the statuesque beauty and grace of you just existing on the sofa next to me.
But I know. I've always known. Good things aren't meant to last. You'll go on without me and I'll stay here and pray for some kind of sleep. Anything to make that aching go away. I'll find a way.
You'll think about me from time to time. You'll feel guilty. But you should know that, if I could, I would take that burden from you. Because I knew. I always knew. I simply loved you too much. My heart told my head that it misremembered. Nothing could really hurt that badly and the set-up makes it worth suffering the punch-line.
So please don't think of me in the past tense. Because I also know that one day he'll be gone and you'll think of me. And I'll still be here for you. Always.
I can only imagine that once, in some lifetime long ago, our roles were reversed and now I'm here to make make up for my sins against you. Or maybe I've chosen this. Either way, I know you won't always need me. I have accepted that. But when you do, I'll be here.
And you will. I'll welcome you back. You'll find the same person you left here. Then eventually, whether it be the dry humor or the lackluster domestic performance or any multitude of other peeves, I will start to wear on your nerves. You'll tire of me once again."
He saw a tear well up and she smiled sadly before rising, hugging him, and silently walking towards the man waiting in his car.
"And it will all begin one more time."
