The Walk Away from You

The hardest walk I’ve ever taken was the walk away from you.
I turned around for one more look, trying to take in every detail—your face, your hands, everything about you I never wanted to forget.
I knew you were gone, but I couldn’t make sense of leaving you there.

I wanted to stay and keep holding your hand.
To tell you I wasn’t ready.
To somehow stop what was already done.
It felt wrong to walk away while you stayed behind.
It felt cruel to leave when every part of me wanted to stay.

People don’t talk about that part—the moment you realize there’s nothing left to do but leave.
The way your legs move when you don’t want them to.
The silence in your head when it finally hits you that this is it.

That walk never leaves you.
It replays in flashes you can’t control.
The smell of the room.
The way the air felt.
The sound of your own footsteps, doing the one thing you swore you couldn’t do.

The day I had to walk away and leave you for the last time.
That’s the moment that lives in me forever.