watching the lovers

They made love again in the morning. It was good: passionate and it meant something, even if that something was ill-defined and meaningless.

In the shower, they held each other and both wondered if this would be the last embrace before the final goodbye, which was fast approaching.

He came down and plopped on the sofa next to her. They looked at each other with different types of disappointment, each profound in its own way. He made a few clumsy suggestions and she nodded in to space with glassy eyes. What does it matter, really? She was sure that they would never see each other again.

He got up to put his shoes on. This was the signal. Time to go. Fast with her laces, she stood by the door, half in thought and half waiting. He asked quietly if she would like to be walked to her car or if it would be easier if... She understood and with a quick look back, stepped out.

He looked out the door and called after her in a voice that wasn't sure if it wanted to be heard, "So that's it?"

But she was gone.