The last time I saw her was outside the train station. It was a cold January morning and we were wrapped in scarves and thick coats. The cold winter air stung our cheeks as we held each other close, the crowds of people pouring in and out of the station parted around us as we said our goodbyes.
The time we had spent together had been brief. What was it – three weeks? A month? It still seemed surreal that we had grown so close after such a short period of time but despite this we were now forever connected in some unusual way. We had given each other something that we had both badly needed, for different reasons, in a difficult and changing time in both our lives.
But is was not love, no. And as if to confirm this we did not kiss during our goodbye. Instead we just held each other tightly. I breathed in her smell, ran my fingers through her thick black hair, gently feeling the skin on the back of her neck, committing her to memory one last time.
Finally, we looked in to each others eyes as we released one another from our arms and she turned and slowly walked in to the station. I watched her pass through the gates and then disappear from view amongst the crowds on the platform.