The old motel sign flickered, casting a dull, buzzing glow across the parking lot. Andrew sat on the hood of his car, watching the neon letters blink in and out of existence, a perfect reflection of the way he felt inside—fading, uncertain. The bottle in his hand was half-empty, the whiskey warming his veins just enough to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts, but not enough to forget.

He wouldn’t forget her. Not tonight.

Elisabeth.

It had been years since he last saw her, but her name still tasted like fire on his tongue. She had been everything to him once, the kind of love that fills every corner of your life until there’s no room for anything else. She was wild and free, always chasing the next adventure, always pushing him to be more than he was. And for a while, it had been enough.

But not forever.

He remembered the way she used to say goodbye—like it was nothing like she’d be back before the door had even closed behind her. But each time, she stayed away a little longer. And each time, it took him a little longer to stop waiting.

Andrew leaned back against the windshield, the cool glass pressing against his back as he closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He could still picture her, the way she’d walk barefoot through the kitchen, humming some half-forgotten tune, her hair a mess of tangled curls, eyes always searching for something he couldn’t give her. She was restless, always moving, always wanting more.

And he had tried to keep up. He’d tried to be the one she needed, the anchor in the storm. But eventually, the storm had won.

He took another drink, feeling the familiar burn slide down his throat, and smiled bitterly. They hadn’t fought, not really. Their ending wasn’t the kind that came with slamming doors and broken dishes. No, they had drifted apart slowly, like two ships caught in different currents, heading toward different shores. She had left, and he had stayed behind, too tired to chase after her, too proud to ask her to stay.

The last time they had spoken, she had called from a payphone somewhere out west. He could hear the wind whipping through the receiver, could almost picture her standing there, squinting into the sun, her hand shielding her eyes as she told him she was doing fine. She always said she was fine.

“I miss you,” he had said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

There had been a long silence on the other end of the line, the kind that stretches too far, where everything unsaid hangs between you like a weight. Then she had sighed softly, and he had known.

“I know,” she’d replied, her voice quiet, distant. “But you’ll be okay.”

And that was it. She had hung up, and he had stared at the phone in his hand for what felt like hours, knowing that this was how it was always going to end. Elisabeth had never been the kind of woman who stayed. She was always looking for something more, something bigger than the life they had built together. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never be enough to hold her down.

Now, here he was, sitting under the same sky she had disappeared beneath, wondering if she ever thought about him. Wondering if, somewhere out there, she was looking up at the stars too, remembering the nights they had spent lying in bed, tangled in each other’s arms, whispering promises that neither of them could keep.

The bottle was almost empty now, the whiskey settling into a dull hum in the back of his mind. He should go inside, should sleep it off, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Not tonight.

Because tonight, she felt close. Closer than she had in years.

He could almost hear her laugh, that soft, low sound that used to make him feel like everything was going to be okay. He could see the way she used to look at him, her eyes searching his face like she was trying to memorize him, trying to hold on to something she knew she couldn’t keep. He had never asked her why she left. He didn’t need to. Elisabeth was like the wind—wild, untamable, always slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he held on.

But that didn’t stop him from loving her.

It never had.

He stood up slowly, the weight of the night pressing down on him as he walked to the edge of the parking lot, the bottle dangling loosely in his hand. The horizon stretched out before him, endless and empty, just like the space she had left behind. He knew he’d never see her again, not really. She was gone, off chasing the next adventure, the next dream, while he stayed behind, tethered to a life they had once shared.

But even as the years passed, even as the distance between them grew wider, Andrew knew one thing would never change.

He would always wait for her.

With a sigh, he tipped the bottle back, draining the last of the whiskey before tossing it into the trash. He could still feel her here, in the quiet, in the spaces between the stars. Maybe she would always be there, a part of him he couldn’t shake, no matter how much time passed.

“Goodnight, Elisabeth,” he whispered into the dark, his voice barely audible above the wind.

And as the night stretched on, he stood there, waiting for a reply that would never come.

---

Listen to Goodnight Elisabeth by The Counting Crows on Spotify

Listen to Goodnight Elisabeth by The Counting Crows on Apple Music

Click Here To Read More Short Stories Influenced by Songs

---