It felt like the last night on earth, the last day of the world.

The truth of it was simply that it was the last day for the two of them.

She wasn't certain she could really pinpoint the day they ended, nor that she could really work out why they ended. It was as if she'd woken up one morning, looked at him (his back, how long had that been the way they slept, not even touching, two bodies in the same bed, not two souls in the same space) and realised that she didn't love him.

It hadn't hurt. It hadn't done very much at all, it hadn't made her feel that different about the world, but she knew it was true, and she knew that she had to tell him.

But how could you begin that conversation? How could you begin to tell someone that you didn't love them? She didn't want to hurt him - she was worried that she'd hurt him too much already, without even knowing it.

He squeezed her shoulders that evening - she was moving away, this city was his, had always been his. He didn't resent her - or at least, he didn't show it. Maybe he'd realised before she had and hadn't been able to say it, or maybe he had someone else.

"Be happy." She whispered. "Find someone who makes you happy. Happier than I made you."

He nods, dropping a very final kiss onto her forehead (no lips, never lips) and releasing her into the wild, not watching her leave, not wanting to follow.