GLASS

GLASS

“It’s late… even the sun went to sleep hours ago. We really should just go to bed, nothing will be any different between now and after we’ve slept.”

“And where do you suggest I sleep? Where the hell am I supposed to lay my head down? Certainly not next to you.”

“You don’t have to be that way –“

“Did you ever love me?”

I braced myself for your response. Awaiting the impact of what I believed in my heart your answer would be. I braced myself in a weak attempt to somehow shield my heart from damages that had already been done.

“Of course I did.”

Keyword, did.

“Then what happened? I need to know how we ended up here. What happened the day you fell out of love with me?”

You took a deep breath. Your blown out oxygen fogging up the glass that sat between us.

“It wasn’t just a single day, or a single moment or action. It wasn’t something that happened randomly when I woke up one day. Hell, I’m not even sure if it was you at all.”

I stayed silent.

My heart sank deeper into me as you spoke these words. It felt like I was talking to a stranger, to someone that I only just met tonight and not twelve, long years ago. It felt as if the last eight years we spent together all crumbled into nothing within one single night.

You continued.

“I think maybe you were the right person, but at the wrong time. When we met we were 17. Seventeen. And from 21 until now, we’ve been together. Conjoined at each others hip. So tightly knit that I could no longer tell you apart from myself, I couldn’t tell our souls apart from each other. I couldn’t breathe.

“We were so young. Our lives had barely started. Then the next thing I knew, we were married and that was it. For the rest of our lives we would be bound, no longer living as individuals. I think maybe somewhere along the way I realized that in trying to always please you, I had failed myself. Somewhere along the way I gave up on the shit I wanted, on the person I wanted to be. Because I loved you so fiercely, I couldn’t see anything else mattering beyond that — beyond our love.”

“You proposed to me. You jumpstarted this speed boat and now you’re abandoning it. I just don’t understand. Why can’t you be who you are, find the person you lost, and love me all at once?”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“We’re still young. I know we still have life left! I never forced you to love me with so much intensity. I thought you did it because you wanted to love me.”

You looked at me so deeply I thought you’d pierce a hole straight through me. The glass that sat between us was now empty – as empty as my heart felt. You reached your hand across the table and slid it on top of mine. I wanted so badly to pull my hand away, but if this was the last time you’d be touching me, then I can’t waste it.

So many questions are running through my mind. Parading around & bouncing from one thought to the next – never finding any resolution. No answers. No reasoning that made enough sense to me.

“Of course I wanted to love you. Every day I chose us – and every day I was content with that decision. Until one day, I wasn’t. I can’t fight the internal battles any more. I lost. We lost.”

“Is there someone else?”

I almost wanted the answer to be yes. That would make more sense to me. I could forgive you for that.

“No. Never.”

“Is it something I did?”

“No.”

“Should I have seen this conversation coming sooner?”

“No.”

“Could I have stopped this from happening?”

“No.”

You shook your head and continued looking at me; as if you felt sorry for me for hoping we still had time left.

I had nothing more to say. And neither did you.

We continued sitting there, the empty glass sitting between us now pushed to the side.

No one spoke for awhile.

“I’m sorry.” You finally said.

“Are you sorry for loving me?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry that choosing me means hurting you.”

“I just want you to stay. This doesn’t have to be it.”

You stayed silent.

I continued.

“I love you as deeply as the scars my father left on my body. I can’t fucking breathe without you. You made me who I am, you made me better. You can’t leave me! You just can’t!”

You jumped at the tone of my voice. I watched as the glass between us was now shaking as the vibrations from my yelling pulsed through the table.

Take a deep breath.

In… out. In… out.

Good.

“Everything you just said is why I feel so suffocated. I’m intoxicating to you. I’m damaging you.”

You paused before you spoke again. As if to ponder on if you should say next whatever it was that you were thinking.

“And you’re damaging me.” You whispered.

I stayed silent.

My thoughts once again running rapid.

The light from the slow rising sun was now poking its way through the blinds – the same blinds the two of us once spent six weeks deciding on. The light was bouncing off the empty glass between us, creating a mild and soothing hue of orange throughout the dark room surrounding us. On any other day, it would’ve been a comforting touch. But today, it just felt like a poorly timed joke. It felt cold.

“Oh.” I mumbled to you under my breath.

The pain searing through my chest was preventing me from being able to say anything else.

I’m beginning to realize there’s nothing that I can do to change your mind. There’s nothing that I can do to make you fall in love with me again. My pleading was more embarrassing than it was helpful.

We sat once more, the silence between us was so loud you could hear it a mile away. It filled the entire room

Silence filled our entire home.

What else was there to be said?

I stood up.

You looked up at me.

“So is that it then?” I asked you, fighting tears.

“I guess so.”

I hovered over you for a moment – observing your body language. I could barely recognize you.

Why are you so tense?

Are you… afraid of me? And is me being afraid to ask you out loud if you are, a sign of me knowing the answer already then?

I just wanted to walk away. But my body wasn’t ready, my soul wasn’t ready to leave yours behind.

I’m not ready.

I’m not ready.

“I’m not fucking ready!” I hollered. My fist slammed into the table, the glass that was once between us fell and rolled down the table until it landed on the floor – shattering into a million little pieces right there with my broken heart.

“But I am.” You finally spoke again.

You reached behind you and from your bag hanging on the chair, you grabbed a packet of papers.

“Here.” You slid them to me. “Sign it.”

“Divorce papers? How fucking long have you been planning this? You’ve already signed this shit!”

“Just.” You sighed. “Sign it.”

I snatched the pen from your hands. Hands that were once wrapped around me, hands that were once intertwined within my own, now handing me a pen to sign divorce papers.

I signed.

“Thank you.” You said.

Thank you?

You continued.

“Think of it as a glass half full… now you’re free again. Free to live whatever life you want. Free to work through forgiving your parents. You’re free to find the source of your anger and destroy it. You can do anything you want. You can be whoever you want to be. You can become someone better –“

“I wanted to be yours. That’s all I wanted.” I interrupted.

You paused and smiled a half smile.

“Yes. But now you get to be so much more.”

The sun was now almost at full strength. The room was no longer dreary and dark. The hue was no longer a dimmed, orange reflection.

Surrounding us were now memories I could see so vividly it felt as if I were reliving them.

Our vacation souvenirs hanging on our fridge. The image of us dancing together as we cooked yet another remarkable meal together.

The wine glasses from two nights before still sitting in our sink – if only I knew ahead of time that that would be our last night together.

The arguments we had when trying to decide on the flooring for the kitchen four years ago.. Our kitchen.

This is all too much. It’s too fucking much.

I turned to look at the now fully risen sun.

Looking out the window, it simply looked like another southern, summer day. It looked like all of the days before today and all of the days that will follow.

Looking out the window – you wouldn’t know today was the day before I ended all of my days, and the pain was no longer killing me.

How’s that for a glass half full?