Before I knew it was true

I realize now that I'd been writing the end of our relationship since I moved here. All of it was loss, attempts at returning.

At the ocean, I shut him out, wrote to myself in the sand and looked for the eyes of alligators to keep me company. I made conversation with crabs, my only companions on the beach, their legs arced and quick like spiders I would touch.

Hikes were meant to convince me I was strong, independent, and braver than he. All I wanted to do was go to the mountains, take trails to an end I could identify.

The way I looked for faces on the sides of buildings, letting their lights speak from within. The way lone fountains made me cry. The way we stopped saying good night multiple times because once had become enough.

Even before, I was composing the end. I lost the language of happiness. I lost the words to explain our relationship. And when you lose the ability to describe a love or lover even to yourself, you have reached an end. All through, I didn't realize I was crafting a goodbye. Now I do. Now I am finishing the story of our end, the essay that I've been writing for a year and a half, that took shape before I knew it was true.