“I can’t go on – it’s just not working. I’m going to walk away now, and you mustn’t follow me. You can’t, ‘cause if you do, I’ll look back and won’t be able to let you go. It’s better this way” She let his hands drop, and reluctantly walked away up the dark road, the eaves of the trees either side of the embankment casting deep shadows. The boy stayed a while, his face set in a sorrowful gaze after her, but at last, when she reached the last orange streetlamp and turned the corner, beyond sight, he started off down the hill and toward his home, thinking about everything he’d lost.

  He took the long route, though it was late and the February skies were a dark melancholy black. There was no moon, only the passing cars and the tired streetlamps illuminated the way. A single raindrop fell from the sullen clouds, but spring was drawing close and soon the roads that had now parted ways from last summer’s bliss would meet new paths, though they would never forget the tearful farewell that came with the bittersweet taste of adulthood. The night is always at its darkest before the rise of a new dawn.