Too Late

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It had been difficult to disentangle my limbs from his without waking him, trying to dress as quietly as I could in the dark.  He'd stirred as I sat on the floor by the light of my phone, writing to him on a postcard, which I carefully propped up among the zen frogs, where I knew he'd see it.

I couldn't see properly, now, even with the bright moon shining through, my tears glinting like tiny diamonds as I gently kissed him one last time.

Then, quietly as I could, I shouldered my backpack, ready to put it in the back seats of my car and begin the journey home again.

I turned back before I opened the door, lifting my hand to my throat for the amethyst he'd bought me, only then remembering that I'd left it by the waterfall in the pools that afternoon.

But, it was too late to retrieve it, like it was too late to thank them all for everything they'd done for me.  Like it was too late to tell him everything I needed to tell him, doing my best, yet failing, to fit it all onto a single postcard.

I could feel my heart breaking as I quietly opened the door one last time, and slipped around it into the cold night air.

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