(I wrote this for 3 Word Wednesday. This week's words were: Glass, Question, Token)
"Why won't you fight for us?"
I was somewhat taken aback by her question, or more accurately that she had said anything at all. After an hour and thirty-three minutes of going back and forth, airing all our grievances and leaving all that once was good buried beneath the bad, I had expected her to just keep walking. But right before reaching the door, she stopped, turned around and made one final stand.
For the first time, she began to cry, causing her makeup to run in dark streaks down her face. And in that instant she looked like an angel, completely vulnerable, pleading to me.
But I was never much of a fighter. I stared towards her, careful to never let our eyes meet, with a much practiced stoic look. The wall around my heart personified on my face. If I cared, I didn't want her to know. And I wasn't sure why.
Somehow that is what we had turned into. Silly fights over who loved who the most had twisted into an unspoken competition over who could care less. Kisses, the kind that sent my stomach into a storm of butterflies and left me gasping for air, had turned into nothing more than token gestures. And "I love you" was spoken more out of habit or obligation now than anything else. I didn't know how it started, but I knew too well this was the end.
I wanted to say something, but "I'm sorry" was the only thing that came to mind and seemed pathetically inadequate by that point. Instead, I sat in silence, watching the last of the embers die, three years reduced to ashes, and never being sure if this was a mistake.
And so, she left, slamming the door with such force that it shook my heart and rattled the glass in the window pane. But it didn't break. It used to, but I fixed that.
"The end is coming. She don't even feel it. It's a strange sensation. I'm almost happy. Well I believe that I'm just plain tired..."