Archive of Our Own

I should've kept walking when I saw her.

It would've been the smart thing to do. All of my friends would've agreed. It was the sort of question you could've posted on any advice forum or written to any columnist about a received a universal answer for. Nothing good ever came from chasing your ex. No amount of hope was going to make her love me. More exposure could only harm me.

And yet, I walked into the coffee shop.

She was scrolling through her phone at a table by the corner. Her pink hat and blue scarf — both pastel, both things I had bought for her — were laying on the bench next to her. Her hair was neatly brushed, her makeup perfectly applied, and her clothes stylish in a way I could never be. She had a simple black choker on. My collar looked much better, but she'd never wear it again. She'd handed it back to me when she'd broken up with me.

It hadn't moved on its spot on my dresser since.

She looked up. I pulled my scarf up and stared at the menu board, pretending to contemplate my order. I loathed coffee and tea. There was no reason for me to be in here. No reason for her to suspect it was me. I was another person in a city of more than 4 million, in one of the hundred coffee shops in it.

She didn't know it was me.

Even if she had, she wouldn't have cared.

I got to the front without looking back. I ordered black coffee. The barista, a woman with chestnut hair and a nice smile, took my order. When she handed my cup to me, her fingers brushed over mine. She gave me a shy smile. I noticed the pride pin she wearing on her apron. I smiled back and retreated to a table that was as far from her as I could get, my back to her.

I forced myself to drink my coffee, no matter how terrible it was. A boom of thunder sounded outside. It started to rain. If I hadn't stopped into the coffee shop, I would've been on the subway right now, heading back to my apartment which was less than a block from the station I got off at. Instead, I had another three blocks to go in the rain.

Halfway through my coffee, the taste heavy and bitter in my mouth, I decided I was wasting my time. I wasn't even looking at her. There was no point in being here. I stood up and threw my coffee away. I wished there was another exit. I wished I wasn't such a coward.

I turned. She was sitting with a tall, suave butch woman. She was as tall as me, with a heavy leather jacket on and sturdy black boots. I expected piercings, but she had none. She smiled and laughed, covering her face in the way she only did when she truly loved something.

She was on a date.

I strode out the door without looking back. At the very least, I could keep my dignity.

No one would see how badly it hurt.

I sipped my beer, leaning against a table that had been pushed into the corner of the bar. The dance floor was thick with people. The music was thudding. The woman I had come with had left me an hour ago and dashed whatever chance at a relationship we had.

It was for the best. We weren't well suited for one another. It was the second woman I'd gone out with since she had left a year ago. Neither of them had worked out. Our personalities clashed, the intensity we wanted our kink differed, and the only time we ever clicked was on the first date.

I reflected on all the articles and promises that there were plenty of fish in the sea. That you shouldn't let yourself believe that you would always be alone, because there were other people out there. You did it once, of course, you could do it again! Wallowing in self-loathing had never gotten anyone a partner.

But that was only looking at one side of things. Statistically, there were plenty of people who found no one. If good luck could exist, if connection could, the lack of it could as well. If you looked for a partner, your chances of finding one went up, but everyone was a victim of statistics at the end of the day. No one could defy reality.

Some amount of people simply ended up alone.

I was beginning to think that would be me. She had been the only woman I had ever loved. I had thought we would be together forever. 12 years of a relationship seemed like a good reason to believe that. We had talked about marriage. Family. Our future when we were old.

But then she'd grown distant. She fell out of love with me. She'd told me as much in about the same words, standing in our apartment a week before our lease ended, finally forcing me to see that she had been delaying resigning because she was going to leave. Proving it hadn't all been in my head after all.

We hadn't fought. I didn't scream or cry. I nodded, lied and told her I understood, and asked her when she was moving out. She had said tomorrow. I asked her if she wanted help. She said no.

I thanked her for her time, as if I had been a salesperson, then went into my room.

When I left it, she and all her things were gone, like she'd never been there at all.

I finished my beer. A group of people walked up the stairs to the upper floor.

I saw her with them.

The butch she'd met at the coffee shop was with her. She had her arm draped around her shoulder. I skipped past the skimpy dress she wore to her neck, where she had a new collar.

No doubt the collar of the woman who was leaning in to kiss her now.

I expected to feel jealousy. There was none. She was smiling. Happy. Her friends were all laughing. They went to dance.

I walked down the stairs.

Time had turned the wound into something akin to nerve damage. Mostly, it stayed numb, but without warning it would flare and leave me breathless.

Tonight, at least, I was only numb.

I gazed up at the waterfall and felt nothing. Even with the forests on both sides of it dense with color from the fall leaves, even with the chill in the air and the singing of the birds, I felt nothing.

I had grown used to it. I had felt that way more often than not since she left 3 years ago. I had tried therapy. It didn't work. I didn't hate myself, I didn't think there was anything wrong with me, and there was no deep self-loathing or inferiority complex to correct. There was only the loss of the one person who I had loved.

It made me feel terribly dramatic. Misery of this caliber should've been reserved for the death of your spouse, parent, or child. It wasn't fit for a woman in their early 30s who had one breakup years ago. A breakup that had been smooth and quick, as far as these things could be. Had anyone else told me they were pining over a girlfriend they'd lost years ago, I'd have told them it was time to move on. I told myself that.

It did not help me move on.

Luckily, life went on without me. I continued to work and get promotions. I went on vacation. I had sex and made friends. I even had fun. It was a good life. Better than most would ever have. I should've spent more time enjoying it.

But then I thought of her. I thought of how much better it would be if she were here. The life we could've had and the memories we could've shared, and any thought of doing that faded.

I headed up the stairs. It was getting later in the evening. By the time I reached the top, it would be hard to see the mountains that rolled off into the distance. The twilight would tint even the brightest colored leaves with shades of purple. It would be a melancholic view. It suited me fine.

What other view would I hope for, visiting the falls on the day of her birthday, as we had done every single year?

I was sweating when I reached the halfway point. I paused to look up at the falls, letting the roar of the water drown out my thoughts. The exercise made it easy to let my mind go blank. There was only movement and the reward of seeing the view from the top. At least, for the next 10 minutes, I could be at peace.

Only, as I climbed higher, I heard the sound of music and people laughing. Far too many, for this late in the evening. I past a gay couple, dressed in sharp tuxes, heading down the stairs. When I reached the top of the falls, I found even more people in formal wear. Someone had a speaker and was playing music. It was a wedding party that must've spilled out from the lodge that the falls hosted.

I envied them deeply. She and I had planned our wedding here. When we stood together, hand in hand at the top, leaning against the railing, the world felt like ours. It felt right. I could only hope whoever was getting married today felt the same.

I headed towards the bridge that straddled the falls. It was empty sans the bride and the groom, dressed in a beautiful white gown and tux respectively. The dying light made it hard to make out their faces. They were looking out at the mountains as I wished I could've with her.

It was petty, but I walked forward. They did not own the overlook and I had hiked up to see my view before it got dark. They could share the space with me.

"Excuse me," I said, walking onto the bridge. "I hope you don't mind."

The bride turned to look at me. Up close, I could make out her features.

It was her.

Our eyes locked.

Her mouth opened in shock. I kept my face entirely blank. I noticed she still had the collar she wore at the club. I knew it hadn't been a fashion statement then, but the confirmation now made me feel like I was floating. She had married someone in less than half the time we had dated for. She had lived our dream without me. She had found her love and left me behind.

"No problem, it's a beautiful view," her wife said. "Sorry if we're too noisy. I told them to keep music in the lodge, but you know how it goes."

"It's fine," I said. I took up position against the railing and looked out. The view was pretty. I felt less than nothing about it.

At that moment, I knew there would never be anyone else. My heart had been broken and it would never be repaired. I would die unpartnered. I would never live the dreams I held so close to my chest. All I could do was let them go.

I tried to find peace in that.

There was none.

"Congratulations," I said, looking up at the sky. The stars were starting to come out. "I wish y'all the best."

"You do the same!" her wife said.

They walked away, leaving me alone.

My tears dripped down and became a part of the falls.