when i recount the story to others, i say, it's better this way. for the romance. there is no ending this way. it hasn't been written. i haven't caused it. it can still be written. but the truth is, though i've forgotten your name and am forgetting the security of your jaw and the curiosity of your eyes, i can't forget that i walked away from you through that train station. ignoring every fibre begging me to turn, to shout, to crash into you.