A part of her might have known he was right, once: Maybe an end was inevitable, maybe saying she liked this moment on this lake wouldn't lead to happiness, maybe feelings would change or maybe something else would happen. But they could have this moment on this lake right now.

Right now, she wanted to grab on to it anyway and refuse to give it up. Without naming it, she wanted to close herself off to anything that would end in being left behind and forgotten. She wanted to be enough to stay for.

A part of her knew that she wasn't. A part of her didn't want to push him out of this moment by insisting, after what he'd said. But the last time she hadn't known what to say, she'd regretted not finding the words for far too long.

"If I don't say anything," she finally said, "I won't be able to make you understand me at all."