I Drew the Last Breath

I had imagined this conversation before—how it would sound, how it would unfold. But in my head, it had always been softer, stretched over time, with pauses that allowed room for reconsideration. I had thought maybe she'd struggle to say it, that she’d fight herself before letting go.

I was right.

She said it simply, like something inevitable. "I think we should stop talking."

And just like that, the air changed.

I sat up, gripping the phone a little tighter. "You think, or you’re sure?"

A silence. It wasn’t hesitation, just… an exhale. "I’m sure."

It wasn’t a fight. There was nothing to argue against. I knew this day would come. Maybe I had known since the first time I realized I felt more than I should.

"You don’t have to explain," I said.

But she did anyway.

"It’s not that I don’t care about you," she said. "But I think it’ll hurt you if we keep this going."

Her words were careful, precise—like someone laying down a fragile object, afraid it might shatter. Afraid I might shatter.

I smiled. She couldn’t see it, but I smiled. "You’re not abandoning me," I said. "You’re just making a choice. And I’ll always respect that."

She sighed. It almost sounded like relief. That was the moment I knew—she had already moved on.

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x

But what difference would it have made?

They leave because they already do.

x

A memory surfaced.

Years ago, sitting on a roadside bench after a long walk, she had asked me, out of nowhere, "Do you think some people are meant to be temporary?"

I had laughed. "What kind of sad question is that?"

"I’m serious," she had insisted. "What if some people only come into your life for a little while, just to teach you something?"

I remember shaking my head, stubborn. "No. If someone means something, they stay. That’s it."

She had just smiled—like she knew something I didn’t.

Maybe she had always known.

I pressed the phone closer to my ear, as if that could somehow close the distance. "Are you happy?" I asked.

A pause. Then, "Yes."

I let that sink in. Let it press against my ribs, let it weigh on my chest. I knew what she meant.

She wasn’t just happy. She was happy without me.

I forced a chuckle. "Good. That’s all that matters, right?"

She didn’t say anything. Maybe because we both knew that wasn’t true.

But it didn’t matter anymore. It couldn’t matter anymore.

The call ended.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the wall, replaying every word, every pause.

I should’ve said something more. Something different.

People don’t leave because they don’t know how you feel.

I looked outside. The sun was setting, burning the sky in shades of orange and gold.

Funny. She once told me she loved sunsets.

I never asked why. Maybe because I already knew. They’re beautiful. And then, they disappear.