[This is the seventh  and last chapter of a short  story called “Seven Days”.]

The next morning, we woke up and had not moved at all. I wrote ‘morning’ for the sake of clarity, when the alarm truly showed 5 am. Being late was not an option so we quickly dressed up and went to the train station. We hurried there, stopped right in front to say goodbye, and then he went in. Sometimes humans are very close to robots, we both had one task programmed in our brain “getting him inside his train” and therefore could only focus on that until it was dealt with. I regret now not caring more about our last embrace, our last kiss. We had those; we did. I just can’t remember them. I wish I could go back in time to tell myself to forget about the bloody train for a few seconds.

After he got in, we sat down in front on each other, him on a seat next to a window and me on a bench facing it. Only a few meters apart, yet we could already not touch nor talk. We looked at each other and smiled. It was painful to just sit there, I awfully wanted to cry, but refused to let it be the last image he’d have of me, so I continued smiling while my eyes turned red. He was undoubtedly struggling with his own grief. We looked at each other for a painfully short eternity. Then he left me. Once I couldn’t see the train anymore all the might to keep composure left me. First, the tears, then I couldn’t breathe properly; my mouth half opened in a silent howl while my hand reached for my chest as if I was trying to grab something hidden inside my ribs. It took a few minutes for me to control myself.

So here I am now, back in my room, writing my story; a beautifully unfair tale of love and suffering. I thank you, reader, for going through it all and I hope you understand why I needed someone to know about us, anyone. I needed someone to know that, one day, two strangers found each other and what they felt was real. Only a few hours ago he was in my arms; now he is just a memory, a silhouette on a few pictures and some marks on my neck. When we hugged on Wednesday, I said I found the situation hilarious due to the irony of it all. I sadly cannot say I find I funny anymore. How cruel life can be. I don’t know whether I should thank Fortune or curse it. I believe soon I will only keep in me the beauty of our story, maybe someday I will barely remember his name but for now I am poisoned by all the unborn possibilities.

The End

“Willlem,
I am sorry we couldn’t be together the way we would have wanted to. I really, really, like you and I will continue to feel that way for a long, long time. I don’t regret our choice; we did live like butterflies. I will miss you. Please, visit me one day. I hope you’ll find someone who will love you and appreciate you like I might have had. We were a beautiful love story. Don’t hurt too much, move on, grow. You deserve to be happy. Please, just keep my name in some part of your heart, where it belongs. Don’t keep it as a promise but as a memory.
Élise” [Diary extract; 09/02/****]