A Taste of Freedom
by Ken Barlow
She's in tears, begging me not to leave. I shake my head and look awkwardly at the floor. I don't know what more to say. She tries to take my hand but I pull it away. I thought I'd feel worse. Guilty, maybe. Truth to tell, I don't feel much of anything. It's strange - I used to love this girl, I mean really, truly love her. Now, her histrionics only irritate me. I want this scene over with for my sake, not hers.
It's not like I can pinpoint a moment when I fell out of love. Rather it was a gradual erosion. One morning you wake up and realise there's nothing there, hasn't been for months.
What can you do?
I say goodbye, make insincere promises about remaining friends, and leave. Outside, I light a cigarette. She never liked me smoking. Right here, right now, it tastes like freedom.
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