I knew on Thursday.
Holding her hand.
The ballet.
Beautiful.
The last night in a new city.
I knew on Thursday.
Her hand in mine.
I knew that night.
Before we made love.
I knew it would be soon.
Over.
You can't hold a shining star forever.
Would it be one week? Two?
It didn't matter.
I knew.
I also knew I wouldn't stop. Would keep going.
I would take every day. Every moment.
To be in her presence was pure joy.
I knew she wanted this, but needed more.
I knew what I could give, and I gave it all.
Together that night, our bodies one, I knew.
We were lovers, intimate, close, meeting each other's needs.
One week later, she'd tell me she could still feel that night, could still feel me inside her.
Two weeks later, we were planning the next year.
Three weeks later, talk of homes and summer and a forever bright future.
As the fourth week began, our time was near the end.
A perfect night. One more.
A simple message.
All too much.
The end.
I knew on Thursday.
And held on to her star for four weeks more.
The joy a now bittersweet memory.
Each day, an easier walk without her.
And still. Thursday. Her hand in mine. A memory of a simple, perfect moment.
