In the end, he just walked away.
That was not what he intended.
He'd had the better part of a year to figure out the best way to do this. The plan had been to see and say goodbye to the couple of people that might miss him. It worked pretty well in his mind as he rehersed it over and over...yet...
He just couldn't do it. He couldn't face the pain that would be there. Cowardice? Maybe...all he knew was he just couldn't go nose to nose with hurt anymore.
So he just put a few things in a big back pack, left a note for when someone finally came by to see what was going on with him, locked the door...and walked away.
He'd been on the streets for over two years now, though it was hard for him to mark time with any accuracy.
Thinking of her was still nearly suffocating in it's pain, so he only allowed himself to think of her in the morning, and only while he was having his morning coffee.
He'd sit up against the side of a building and sip his coffee and let his mind spread over her memory. He'd actually be able to smell her again...and taste her kiss...and bathe in her smile. And hold her hand. And the pain would be a physical pressure on his chest. Heavy and aching. Sometimes it would be so difficult to deal with that he'd actually become short of breath. And he'd allow himself to cry then.
And so at first he didn't notice the difference.
He was with her again that first time, holding her on his lap and kissing her and wondering just how she could love him...the pain was nearly delicious, this time nearly more than he could stand...and it gradually opened to him that he was having difficulty breathing. And the weight on his chest was begining to crush him...yet...it wasn't until the pain begin to shoot down his arm that he realized just what was happening to him.
The pain in his chest was unimaginably intense, his arm in agony.
He leaned back against the building, tears for her scalding his unshaven, dirty cheeks...and he smiled.
Finally, he thought.
Finally.
