Till Death Do Us Part. Content Warning.
Every second, minute, hour, and day, I am watching. I watch you shower late at night after work, standing in the kitchen in your underwear, looking deeply into the fridge’s light, or standing at pump three at the local shell station. No moment you have is secret or sacred from my prying eyes. I see you walking down Walmart’s soap aisle, and I’m studying every move you make. Yet you don’t know I’m there at all. Flicking between the shelves, your eyes move as fast as hummingbird wings. You’re trying to decide which one you want. You reach out to grab your favorite soap, vanilla cookie crumble. This doesn’t surprise me; you play this game every month when you pretend to want a new scent of soap, yet you never change. That’s why it was so easy for me to find you. Every fucking day is the same for you, which means every fucking day is the same for me. We’ve had this routine for almost five years now. February 15th is the day of our anniversary, which happens to be the day after Valentine’s Day. This also happens to be the day of your mother’s funeral. Our first meeting was in the showing room of the Roman family’s funeral home.
