“I can’t stay with you.”  She waited for his reaction, watching nervously for the inevitable hurt she was sure would twist his features.  He seemed to contemplate things for a moment as he stared down at the floor between them.  When he looked up, she thought he seemed disappointed and slightly worried.  It turned out that she was the one who was hurt.  Where was his pain?  Why was he not torn up by the fact that she was leaving him?  And for heaven’s sake, why wasn’t he pleading with her to reconsider?
     She watched his gaze wander slowly over her face.  When at last he peered into her eyes, she felt the typical guilt coupled with the love and affection.  After all, he was a great guy.  He was intelligent, polite when necessary, witty, down to earth, attractive… but he wasn’t perfect.  His physical affection for her came rarely, though she was positive he loved her.  Maybe leaving him was a mistake.  
     He spoke quietly, but with venom in his voice.  “I knew this would happen.  I thought you might get over it, but apparently not.  You can’t live in some fantasy movie world all the time, Robin.  Life isn’t like that.  One day you’re gonna have to realize that.”  
     She fell back to her usual response, “I don’t think it’s like that….”  
     He interrupted her, “You’re gonna end up being miserable if you keep expecting things to be perfect.”  She sighed through her nose.  She felt so tired of this conversation, so fed up with him misunderstanding her every time they talked seriously about things.  
     “I’m sorry,”  she said, “I can’t stay with you.”  She walked around the room, gathering her things.  Her books, her scarf, her coat.  She traveled slowly, becoming more upset and frustrated as she moved along.  Why isn’t he fighting?  Why is he just letting me go?  She tried to force the tears away as she stalled her exit, waiting, desperate for him to stop her and make up.  
     When she was all packed and dressed, she stood in the living room she was going to miss, looking around as if trying to spot something she’d forgotten.  After a couple uncomfortable minutes of being watched, she trudged towards the door.  She passed him just as her emotions got the better of her, and she croaked hoarsely through her tears, “Bye.”  If there was a response, she didn’t hear it.  She cried as silently as she could, taking in shuddering breaths of air.  She closed the door quietly behind her before running down the steps and out into the cold, dark street so she could sob without him hearing.
     She wanted to lose herself in the moment, but the black shadows in the streets made her cautious.  Despite her paranoia, she took tiny, sluggish steps as she walked home, each one bringing a new thought of an old memory.  And the staggering, detrimental pain she had felt numerous times before.  
     When she finally got home, she sat in her winter clothes, unmindful of the heat.  One day another man would come, and he would be perfect.  He would give her everything she dreamed about as well as all the things she hadn’t.  She went to bed feeling numb and empty.  
     She continued this cycle until she became too old and too tired to go through the pain of another imperfect man and all the disappointment he would bring, and she lost hope.  She died at the age of sixty seven of unknown causes, alone in her dusty one bedroom apartment.