.memory.

I hate that walking away part...

You know...that part where you and I embrace ever so fondly for such a long time, only to have to separate and send the other on their way back to the place that seems so lonely without their other half.

Do you know how much I hated that first step away from your loving smile? Do you know how much this intense hatred increased with every step that took me further away from true love?

The thinnest barrier between us bothered me. Knowing that I could not reach beyond that black rope to hold your hand killed my spirits...and the further realization that I could not hold your hand for a very long time broke me down.

I hate crying...except when my tears fall from love for you.

As you hurtled away at 600 miles per hour, I drove at 80 miles per hour, widening the gap between us slowly but surely. The "leaving" images are forever stored in my mind, and I still remember the smell of the cinammon roll...
the feel of the ink pen against my hand...
the lady who worked at the ticket counter...
the group of girls behind you in line for security...
and the downward cast of my eyes as I walked away from you, following the mosaic tiles on the floor.

I know that a day exists where no more leaving images have to be made. The memories of airplanes and ticket counters will only exist with both of us leaving together to venture into some wild, chaotic adventure.

The images we will make will be of wedding rings, of summers spent together, of children, of laughter, of love that will know no distance.