Halfway up the courthouse steps, she turns and waves goodbye. Noone waves back.
“I hate you,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her eye. “I don’t,” he said before slowly kissing her forehead and walking away.
Somehow, goodbye never feels easy in the mouth; it catches in the throat and twists the tongue and you end up saying, “I’ll see you soon.” As you close the curtain on your way out, the gentle white lie is laid bare and its grim implications jolt you to a halt.
Her lips said “Hi”. Her eyes said “Goodbye”.