"No, I do not love you."
The words were strong, if not a little sad, as they perferated the dark room.
The woman looked at him from across the room. What could she say?
"How could you say that?" was her reply. Simple, but to the point.
His solemn expression somehow grew moreso. He lowered his eyes briefly as his mind ran through several elaborate answers. Now was not the time for charm or distraction. The truth would suffice.
"Because it is true. My life is not here. My life is not here with you. "
Several moments passed. An eternity to those with broken hearts and those breaking hearts. The lampshades remained unaffected and unconcerned.
He continued.
"I could lie. I could say something like, 'My heart only beats for you.' Or I could even say, 'My heart beats for something out there.'" He gestured vaguely out the window towards the city below.
"But my heart does not beat for you nor for anything else. It beats for me because I tell it to. It's a dumb little organ that does as it's told. I don't know where I belong but it is not here. It is not with you."
The woman studied him. Studied the words. Studied his tone.
"I understand. You're still having those dreams, huh?"
"Every night."
"Then go. We both know you won't be happy until you tried it. Just don't do something stupid."
"Anything else?"
"Don't ruin your face, I like it." She smiled as she walked over and ran her hand across his cheek.
He smiled. And silently nodded in agreement. They read eachother's eyes for a moment. Picking up his duffel, he headed for the door. Determined to not return until he found some answers, he studied every last detail of the walls, the portraits, the book shelf.
When he reached the open doorway, she called after him.
"Tycho."
He stopped. He turned around. The last time he saw her alive.
"Don't be shitty."
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