taking us and breaking us was easy (12/7/20)
“she told me that she loved me by the water fountain / she told me that she loved me and she didn’t love him / and that was really lovely ’cause it was innocent /
but now she’s got a cup with something else in it.” --- alec benjamin’s water fountain.
“Hey,” she greets. It doesn’t sound right. And it could be because it’s 8:12 p.m. at night and she’s standing on my front porch, but things from her haven’t sounded right lately, anyways. And I know what this is. She continues, “We good?”
I have this unfinished love letter, abandoned on my desk. Guess I’ll never give it to her now. Suppose it’s both of our faults, but I know what this is. I have a rose that’s been wilting for quite some time in my fist. And what this is, this--this moment. It’s my choice now.
“I’m good,” I answer, but it isn’t an answer. And in my hand, I crush the rose into fragments. She wanted to have something greater, I guess. And I wasn’t a part of that. “It’s getting late. Hope you stay safe.”
And I know she knows what this is, too. It’s a string being cut. It shows on her face. “Yeah. You, too.”
I shut the door in her face.