You asked me to come and see you before you left. I told you I had plans. The truth was I didn't trust myself not to fall back. Three days later I bought a train ticket to your city. I watched fields turn into buildings outside the train window. Walked the white cobbles of your street. Sat beneath a tree in the park across from your house and looked at the front door. Nothing happened. No curtains moved. No footsteps crossed the hall. No shadow passed the window. You were already gone. Still, I sat there for an hour, as if regret could arrive late and find me waiting.