the last thing i said

“i told you i liked your laugh. you told me i always said that. we sat on a bench where the moon looked like it was eavesdropping. the wind had no mercy, and neither did your silence. you checked your phone, i checked your eyes. you were somewhere else, somewhere i couldn’t follow. i asked if you were okay. you said, “yeah, just tired.” but i knew the kind of tired that doesn’t sleep. you stood. i hesitated. your fingers twitched— like they wanted to stay, but didn’t have the strength to. i asked if you still wanted us. you looked past me, like the answer was somewhere in the trees, and whispered, “i don’t know.” i smiled like i’d rehearsed it. you walked like you hadn’t. and the last thing i said was—”