bitter winter...

Frigid stares were exchanged. I peered through the window behind you and watched as the birds flew—further south I suggested. My boxed belongings sat anxiously beside the door, clinging to the wall like a 5 year old to a mother’s leg on the first day of school; it’s hard to let go. It’s especially hard when the box contains evidence of what is now past tensed. The weeks of brewing tension have culminated into this very moment. The moment where my—our denial has unmasked itself revealing what has been hidden behind the exhaustive attempts at reconciliation and the shallow utters of those three simple words.

You could trace our words with each breath. The squeaks of the hardwood floors were magnified and the slight echo that accompanied our words served as a reminder that the room was now empty. Empty. Bare. Cold. I found it to be symbolic but I wasn’t sure that your heart was concerned with the irony of the situation. I remember the words just as you said them. “We’ve grown apart.” I was a bit perplexed and I guess my lack of response confirmed this death as sacrificial, which in an odd way made it justifiable. We were both free to walk out of the room and venture into the world to find that potentially fertile garden to plant new seeds; but not in the winter. Nothing grows in the winter.

to be continued...