Letters from Kevin

Dear you,

I don't remember deciding. That's the part I can't give you. There was no morning I woke up and chose it. I just started standing a little further back, and then one day you were across a room I hadn't noticed getting wider.

You think I have a reason and I'm keeping it from you. I don't have one. I have a hundred small Tuesdays where I answered slower, and then I stopped answering, and you filled the silence with something that made it easier to keep not answering.

I won't tell you it was hard. You'd feel it as a lie. It wasn't hard. It cost me nothing to go, and staying cost you everything. That's the part that should hurt worse than anything I did, and I know it does.

You'll keep looking for the scene where I chose. Where I looked at you and decided. There isn't one. I wasn't holding a reason back. I was somewhere else while it happened, and where I was, nothing was happening at all.

That's the ending you get. Not a reason. Just me, on my way, not noticing I had left.

Yours still, Kevin