We sit across from each other at the kitchen table and I try to check your watch to see the time but it’s upside down so I turn my head as much as I can but then I realize that the numbers are too small for me to see anyways.  I hear you say that you love me but the words taste bitter so I run my fingers along the small dents in my chair and say I’m sorry because it seems like the right thing to do when you know that you left the person, the one gaping at you, for someone who meant more to you in the moment, a second.

 
My mom always told me that time heals all wounds, but in our case time was what caused them, all the times spent sitting silently next to each other, all the times spent tiptoeing around each other, scared to admit that we were well beyond done.  I feel angry that I don’t love you and I know that you feel the same pain but it’s different and I wish we both didn’t have to feel so broken but I’m so used to feeling broken that it makes more sense than feeling whole.