The last time I saw her, she had a one-way ticket to Philadelphia in her hand. We spent the hour and a half drive to the airport in silence, both knowing what would happen when we reached our destination.
"I can't take this on the plane." She handed me a teal cigarette tin when we stopped just before the Golden Gate Bridge. "Want to smoke one first?" There were several joints.
We lit the end of one, and gazed towards the bay. Although she shaved her head a month ago, I could still imagine the wind blowing through her long, red hair. She sat cross-legged on the guardrail, studying the distance.
"I don't want to go back. It's hell there." She seemed detached, unwilling to accept her fate.
"It's only a few months, we'll be back together again soon. I promise it will be worth it" was all I could manage to say.
We climbed back into the car, and continued driving. As we pulled into the airport, I could see the trace of a tear tumbling down her cheek. We walked to the ticket counter; I tried to comfort her.
We embraced before the security check point. She couldn't bring herself to kiss me. Maybe she knew it was all over.
The plane never arrived in Philadelphia.

Even now, I question if she ever existed.