Please stand behind the yellow line

(Since tinkertailor wrote this story as a female, I will try my hand at writing his story as a guy.)

I held her close. Her softness clung to me like a pillow in a prison cell -- she comforting, womanly, full of life, I, a dried barren place with a preserved plum for a heart. What did she see in me anyway? I think I understand now, I did not understand for the longest time -- it is all my fault, she had fallen in love with an empty shell and now she sees me as I am, and she wants a different future.

Oh God. I will cry.

She says it is not my fault. How can it be when she won't give me a reason? Am I too controlling? Too whiney? Don't have enough ambition? I can get a new job; I promise I won't call her twenty times a day anymore, or get jealous when she goes out with her girlfriends; I'll stop whining; I'll be strong for her; I'll stop making demands; I'll have no expectations of her; I promise; things will be different... I just need you back with me.

"The next one," I hear myself saying.

It was a dark and quiet night. The moon was only a sliver of silver in the sky, like it was the night when we went driving under a skyful of stars. We stopped the car in the dirt track, got out of the car, turned off the headlights, and gazed at the sky. I was holding her like this; it was a perfect moment; I wish I wasn't in such a great hurry to get to where we were going that night; I wish I knew then that we did not have the rest of our lives.

"Please stand behind the yellow lines," the familiar voice droned in English, then Chinese, then Tamil.

I let go. She will leave on the last train tonight and I will watch her back retreat from me and I will not cry.