I really like closure.
When I wake up tomorrow,
Allyson will be gone forever.
So I've been wanting to make every moment matter.
Last time at Panda Express.
Last trip to Provo Bakery.
Last episode of Project Runway.
Last twilit walk.
I've wanted to do all these things
with a lot of fanfare
and imbue meaning and wistfulness into them.
To pronounce in solemn and sonorous tones,
"That was our last twilit walk,"
and let the weight of that sink in
while we stand with our hands over our hearts,
looking out over the deep, still valley.
But you can't.
You just go on your walk
and let it happen.
The whole way there we talked,
but on the way back,
we were quiet.
And that was okay,
even though it was the last time.
Allyson leaving marks the end of summer.
And I always get nostalgic at the end of summer.
But in the oranges and deep blues of sunset,
wrapped around the trunk of every tree,
dappled on the leaves in the darkness,
was the promise:
Something is going to happen.
It was so sure and inexorable
that I was surprised
when I stuck my hand out
and couldn't feel it tangible
in the air in front of me.