Tonight, that's what I will do.

Straddling me, they wrap their arms around my neck. Their lips touch mine―touch tongue―touch heart. They pull away and gaze at me with vacant, moist eyes. They've never done that before―gazed at me when we're finished. It's time for them to cry, so I wait for them to climb off me and begin. But they don't.

There are three words I haven't said. Three words I'll never say. Not until I know why they cry. But if they stop crying, then what? The words are on my tongue, but my desire is too strong to let the words escape―to let the person escape.

Tonight, when they climb off, they reach for their underwear. Then their pants. Then their shirt. I can’t say anything as I watch them leave when they've never immediately left before. But it creeps from my gut up to my throat―the knowledge that this was our last time.

“See you,” they say at the door with a soft smile. The words are a lie.

“See you,” I reply. They step out and I turn the lock.