She keeps secrets. I wish I had a few. I watch her walk with a lilt of flair and admire her confidence. It’s hard to believe how many times I’ve broken her. Looking at her now it’s hard to believe she can be broken. She let me in I guess. It’s easier to break things from the inside.
Now I can’t even get a word inside of her, much less any other part of me. I suppose I deserve her defense.
Today is beyond both of us, like it or not, she has to speak to me. Courts compel things that love has long abandoned.
“Did you sign?”
“Yes. Did you?
“Yes.”
“So, then.”
“So what?”
“I guess. So what?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I still love you?”
“That’s not even close to funny.”
But I’m not joking. And of course, I don’t say it. Every syllable with her must be calculable. I have no calculus for this feeling.
“You know you had everything?”
“I know.”
“You know you fucked it all away?”
“I know.”
“You know I still love you?”
“I know.” (Full disclosure: I didn’t.)
“So what now?”
“This I don’t know.”
“So smart and so stupid.”