and then just like that he is gone, all I have to do is fill our water glasses and say you should go. And he does.

I could tantalize myself with a bright ray of hope, but history has taught me that is about as effective as whistling in the wind, better to gird for the inevitable, the mourning and the misplaced anger. He says it's not me, well I know better. It's been five years since a man has told me that he loved me, I am but a spent shell casing. I am not afraid of being alone, I know the drill. It's the promise that I will miss, the promise of the intangible something that surpasses, that simply surpasses. It's the falling asleep hand in hand.

do I give up now? Pardon me if I wail, if I drop to my knees in supplication, but just how often do I render up my heart and soul, I am telling you in confidence that I am running out of love, my blood is running thin and I am shaking, and I am this close to running out to bury myself prematurely in liquor and cigarettes, because I would very much like to be done now. OK, OK I get it, it's not my lot, no lover, no partner, no child of a union. Just me, toute seule, until I up and flee. To someplace lonesome, someplace lovelorn and bereft, hot enough to evaporate tears.

oh god, tomorrow is going to hurt like hell.

All of the queries and the non responses, and do we speak again or have we spoken volumes already. I am already doing a mental inventory, is there anything there that I need back. Can I close the door though my heart is screaming run, run, run back, beg, borrow and steal, fuck him once more until he turns blue and I turn scarlet. All of that tedious excuse making. All the half jokes, all of those punch lines lost, and now I find I am one once again.

I am not angry, I am only heartbroken, and sad for him and sad for what we might have been. It's a good thing that the heart is such a resilient muscle, they might find me weeks later shattered into a thousand pieces in the bathtub with my heart still throbbing in the water gone cold encased in scar tissue.

my ex-husband says I ought to get to bed now, but there is a part of me already out the door, it's mild out and I am walking past the windows lit by the restless, I am turning the key in the ignition and driving onto the thoroughfare. I'll get lost in the oblivious traffic, I'll heed the rules until I am out of sight, then I will step on the gas pedal and ride the meridian.

but none of that matters tonight, because tomorrow is still going to hurt like hell, and the day after and the day after, until he starts to blur a little at the edges and his songs get replaced by my songs, and I gravitate and conquer the middle of my bed again, forget his phone number, masturbate like mad to forget the sex, slough off my love skin. Soon enough they'll stop saying Emma looks so happy and in love, soon enough the stuff of cities will swallow the phyiscal remants. And what is left I will keep close to my chest when I am not busy willfully forgetting, I might remember, I will remember, I will remember and my heart will buckle, as it does for those whom I loved before. So welcome then, my engineer, to my pantheon, stay quiet as marble, you and your aquiline nose will be right at home here.