Last Time

We should have met.
For the Last Time.
I mean, not the Last Time that we didn't know would be the Last Time, but the real Last Time.

We could have met with grief weighing our eyelids,
bittersweet taste of happier times on our tongues,
broken promises folded in our sleeves.

We could have met at our favourite food joint around the corner of lanes we walked hand in hand.
Rickety wooden table where I engraved your initials with my nail.
Clumsily arranged red plastic chairs.
A makeshift washbasin in a dark corner where we stole a quick kiss once.

Too good of a memory to ruin with Last Time's tear stains, right?
Same goes with every other memory.

Well...
On second thought, good that we did not meet for the Last Time.

Wait!
On third thought, if we had met for the Last Time, that wouldn't have been the Last Time.