• She was my biggest regret, you know? Well, I guess the fault lies in more than just her. It’d be nice to blame her, or the train, or any number of things that kept us apart. I was the problem, though. It’s kind of weird, how you’re looking for a way to escape your own blame, when you know you were the source. It makes you feel like you’re chasing your own tail and it’s creating whirlwind of life and guilt and faults that you can’t escape until you’re lying alone with your thoughts and come to terms with everything that’s happened in life. Yeah, I think in the end, that’s the important part, coming to terms with it. She’s the one thing I couldn’t ever forgive myself for, though.
    I can pinpoint the day. It was rainy and muggy, with people bundled in scarves and overcoats. She was leaving town that day, for a job she’d never come back from. Little did we know that, of course. She promised she would write, and come visit as often as her new occupation allowed. I thought about saying it. Hell, I thought about saying it every time I was with her. I should have.
    She had hugged me, squeezing me tight. I took her hand, opening my mouth. I could say it, I had the courage, I had to say it then…
    The train whistle blew and crashed into me like a tidal wave. Within a few blurry seconds her hand was slipping from mine. She had to go, she was saying, she couldn’t miss the train. I understood that. Anyone would understand that. It was a sign; I was only going to stand in her way if I said it. I wish I had stood in her way. She might still be here.
    I had stood on that platform for a while after the train left, watching the sky and thinking next time, next time for sure. It just hadn’t been the proper time. There would never be a proper time, I realize now. Maybe somewhere back in the memories of all our time together, there was the perfect moment, but it was long buried by the dust of time by now. Maybe on one of the nights we spent together, drunkenly laughing about my poor piano playing, or a day we exhausted bicycling around the town. Maybe any time we were with each other was the right time, but I convinced myself it wasn’t.
    A part of me wonders what would have happened. Perhaps in a parallel universe we’re sitting on the piano bench together, striking mismatched cords and making imperfect melodies right now. What had gotten us to that point? Had she agreed to stay, to find a local job? I’ll never know what could have been. I’m left only with half-imagined futures and painful uncertainties.
    The ‘I love you’ that still weighs on my tongue is my biggest regret.