It was exactly midnight when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore.

There was something fitting about this, the convergence of my realization and the new day, these two inevitable things, in one moment.

When 12 o’clock struck I was sitting up in our bed, my back against the headboard, collecting myself.  At first I thought what had spurred me to wake was the sound of the storm’s hard rain clattering against the windows, but in the back of my mind I knew there was something else. When I looked down at her next to me, silent in her oblivious sleep, I knew what it was. I ran a hand softly through her hair and thought back.

Things always began the same way. A vague search for answers to questions I couldn’t define. Following this – new meetings, chance happenings, things stumbled upon. So it was when I met Cassandra.

I’d never before visited this idyllic little coastal town before I stepped onto the platform at the train station. When I left the city all I knew was that I needed to go somewhere. I saw a real estate listing and decided to rent a cottage here. I made arrangements with the owner over the phone during the ride.

Once I’d arrived and settled into the sparsely furnished bungalow, I began wandering aimlessly through town. I was a stranger, but that was okay. I was used to that. I didn’t speak to anyone. No one spoke to me. Until she did.

I was crossing through the public park when I first saw her. The sun had begun to set, and the park and its surrounding area were deserted with the exception of a young woman sitting down on a bench up ahead. She didn’t seem to notice me at first, too busy staring off into the distance. From first glance something about her made me feel intensely curious; I wanted to know who she was, why she was here, what she was thinking. I thought of starting a conversation but decided to keep walking. I’d never been good at making connections.

I was shuffling ahead when she remarked, “I love watching sunsets like this one.”

I stopped in my tracks. It was a simple statement, but her soft, graceful tone carried within it a sense of quiet wonder that transformed it into something much deeper. I turned to face her, and couldn’t help but admire what I saw; her golden blonde hair, which flowed past her shoulders and down her torso, her smooth skin, and her crystalline blue eyes, lifted up towards the sky in reverence. Her eyes were the most striking. She was an uncomplicated girl, but many times later I would look into those twin orbs of azure, captivated by their translucence, and feel that they conveyed a profundity unrevealed in her words and actions.

I was somewhat perplexed as to what she was doing here – alone, as the day ended, making conversation with a stranger. But I replied, quietly. “I like them too.” It was a bland response. But I never did have much to say.

“I’ve always enjoyed seeing how the last rays of the sun tint the clouds, the sky,” she explained, “how about you?”

“I like watching the light fade.”

She nodded politely - perhaps not understanding, but appreciative nonetheless.

“What’s your name? I’m Cassandra.”

“James.”

We spent more time gazing at the sky than conversing, but during the course of that sunset something clicked. Cassandra found out that I’d just come to town, and she was the type to go out of her way to help out a newcomer. She offered to show me around town sometime and I accepted. Over the course of my time in the little hamlet, we became close friends. Later, something more.

I didn’t remember exactly how we started – she and I. Not that it mattered. The initials touches, nervous expressions of feeling – those things were not important. The minute we both decided to walk into the park things were already settled. Things work that way. You happen upon paths, and the exact beginnings are irrelevant. What is relevant is what goes on along the way.

I found a path in the park that day when I first saw Cassandra.  Although I didn’t remember all of how it began, I remembered the moments along the way. Dinner in quaint little places in town. Summer days spent on “Cassandra’s beach”, an undisturbed spot she’d found where the waves broke softly and the sand dunes shielded us from view. She was the only one who knew of it until I came along, and then she had someone to share it with.

She wanted me to share things with her too, but sometimes I couldn’t. She’d ask me about my life, things that happened before, why I packed up and left the city. Usually I shrugged those questions off. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know things about me. More than anything, I did. But it’s tough for me to open up, and when I tried I found that many of these questions could only be answered with half-formed thoughts, reasons that were more intuitive than rational. I’d attempt to explain, and she’d nod and say “oh”, but the look on her face was blank.

Oftentimes, before you realize you need to get off a path, there’s a pull, some faint notion that no matter how pleasant the façade appears, this is not where you should be. For me, it was the feeling that she didn’t understand. It was an old sense, one I’d had many times before, and once again the awareness began to creep up on me. I resisted for a while, but in the end it was no use.

When you’ve finally reached the end of a path there’s a certain jolt inside of you that lets you know. I knew I’d felt that jolt when I awoke that stormy midnight. It’s always hard to leave – it requires you to make a final decision, a willful extrication. While I sat in bed, I made the choice to remove myself. I dressed and quickly threw a small bag together full of the barest essentials. I headed for the train station.

I purchased a ticket for the next train and began the wait, surrounded by swirling mist on the desolate platform. I realized that I had not left any sort of note for Cassandra, but I knew that was good. I knew I had to cut ties with her, because everything we’d done together was now the past, and it was all disintegrating as I stood there.

People like to say that the past is the past, it’s gone, it doesn’t matter. That’s not true. The past does not stay dead. Experiences become memories. Memories are the past, and so in these memories, the past is alive. It builds up and you cherish it. Like most treasured possessions, it’s easy to break. It usually does. When it shatters, the space it leaves is big enough to swallow you whole. There is only one way to escape - to keep moving forward. Let the past go. Leave everything behind. Never stay too long in one place. Don’t think too far ahead, because the future is made of anticipations just as fragile. Instead, always live in new moments - an unceasing present.

The train shot out of the darkness, revealing itself under the station’s incandescent white lights. After it stopped in front of me, I stepped inside and never looked back.