fly away
It's the day. The day. The one day that you wished would come so desperately because you want to get out of here. The day you wished never would come because you don't want to leave him behind.
Your bags are packed; they're lying by the front door, leaning against the wall. Idly, you count them again; it's not like any of them have sprouted legs and walked away during the night, but it's something to do. Look at the crayon doodlings on the wall; his little brother got his hands on your materials once and did quite a bit of 'decorating' before the both of you were able to wrestle them away from him. The vase he made at some art class that backfired so miserably that it would never hold flowers but still remained something that you looked as beautiful, just because his hands had touched it.
Look at everything, memorize what it looks like. You'll probably never come back here again. You'll probably never see him again. You'll probably never feel his hand on your arm again like it is now, and you fight the urge to forget all the shit that happened just so that you can stay here. With him.
"So… you're serious about leaving, aren't you?" He speaks with the tone of a boy who's just suffered the biggest disappointment of his life, finding out that the girl he has a crush on already has a boyfriend. He speaks like a boy… he sounds so small, so scared, so unwilling to let go of the only girl he's ever known and loved.
"I have to. You know I can't stay here anymore." You know it's the biggest lie you've ever told; you could actually stay here forever. If you wanted to. If you wanted to.
You don't want to. You don't want to lie to him anymore. You know if you stayed here, you'd just be cheating yourself that everything was okay, when it's not. It's so far from okay that maybe you're even forgetting what okay feels like.
He's behind you now, his arms finding their way around your waist, his face pressed against your shoulder. "Don't go."
"I wish I didn't have to," you say softly, swallowing.
"I fucked up really bad, didn't I?"
"Yes. No. No, you didn't fuck up. I did. It's not your fault." You already feel horrible; having to hear him blaming himself just tears you apart. You've always loved him; you still do. Love him enough to even want to ignore the little things that he did to hurt you.
He says nothing. Instead he sighs, nuzzles his face into your hair. Murmurs but really doesn't say something you want to hear. You'd like him to tell you once more to stay; you'd like him to make you feel so guilty that you could have a reason to come back.
But he doesn't say anything. He just keeps quiet, not letting go, not moving, just standing there behind you so that you know that he's there and you breathe in deeply. His scent hovering in the air. The scent of defeat.
"I'm sorry." The words come a little too late.
"Don't be," you whisper.
"Don't run away from the problems. Don't run away from me."
You laugh. "I'm not going to run. I'm going to fly away from the problems."
"Fly?"
"Yeah," you say, turning around to face him. "Remember the day you said that if we tried, we could fly away from anything?"
He nods his head. He remembers all too well. You let your hand trail down his cheek, at the same time pulling yourself out of his embrace.
"Well. I'm going to fly away from everything," you whisper as you glance towards the open balcony door. Taking leave of him for one last time as you back away, slowly, looking at him the whole time. "I'm going to fly away."
"Stop…"
You shake your head, turning around and running.
You're going to fly away. You've got your wings and he's got his. And he can't do anything to stop you because he was always too afraid to spread his wings. You're not.
You're not afraid of anything. After all, there's nothing left to be afraid of now.