From a book a decade in the making.

These are the fragments left behind by a now humbled narrator who has finally learned to let go.

Scribbled in the margins and at the bottom of  pages that have been read and reread. Some written under the guise of a hopeless man in love, others by a man who understands what he is losing.  

For example: I knew how this would end.
But I really hoped I was wrong. I knew we had reached the final fork in our tale where we would go our separate ways or travel and map out our future together.

Scribbled next to dates in the margins and at the bottom of pages. I knew it was coming, I saw it coming; the inevitable ending of our story. The final curtain call and what was I was thinking?
I was just trying to memorize your face. That lovely smile, warm laugh, and the constant encouragement that you offered so freely.

And yes, behind closed doors you were always on my mind, we spent hours mapping each other out not out of lust, but because we truly thought we were on a path forever. You were the language I wanted to learn, with both my hands and heart.

As I'm finally ready to stamp this book with the seal; with a steady hand. I realize it was never meant to be. And I'm no longer sad as I was years before, trying again and again to end this story.

Still, the reality of finally closing this ten-year book leaves me feeling hollow. Like a part of myself just drew its final breaths.

Still,
I will keep on moving forward.