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She was on the pier. I thought she’d jump this time for sure. She couldn’t swim. We both knew. It was a game she played, like the scars inside her wrists from cuts deep but not too deep.

I watched from a good distance. I couldn’t rescue her this time. The pier was high and the water was choppy from the incoming storm. She was like a postcard, hair whipping in the wind against a heavy gray sky. There was a patch of sunlight that shone on half of her. I waited.

When she drew back from the edge she made her way straight to me. “You weren’t gonna save me?” she said.

I shook my head. “No.”

“How’s that for love?” She was sad, the way she asked it, but she smiled into my arms and kissed me like she’d been waiting years to do so.

There was so much in that kiss. The whole story of how she meant it this time. Really meant it. We both knew it wouldn’t be long before she was gone.

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