“I don’t love you anymore.”
And In that moment, he knew what kind of pain he had inflicted. He could never see her pain; she hid it well and he had become an emotional black hole.
His reality foreseen, thus he clung like a monkey on a limb with a suffocating love.
She scratched, bit, and spit in his face until he released his grip.
A year came and went.
He ventured upon the city for the evening. She was far out of reach in his mind. He raised the whiskey to his lips, the peat had been missed.
“Fuck, “ he aspirated. It burned like hell coming up. They heard his outburst, though pretended to be exchanging complex dialogue and oblivious to his presence in the room.
They emanated the stereotypical display of mean girl and white privilege.
He stood and patted his shirt as if it would help dry the cloth. They met his eyes with a cold hard stare. He raised the empty plastic cup as a truce. They snickered like junior highschool girls, holding hands and fidgeting legs to keep their sanitary belts aligned.
To be cont’d…
Her mourning coffee 