"I'm sorry," he said, "If this upsets you."
"Nah, I'm good." I responded lightly.
Upset was too small, diminutive, a word for what raged through me.
I found myself blinking in the dark at 5 a.m., wondering what I was still doing awake. Days without sleep became weeks. What was food? I would cook it but then give it away, unable to swallow. My Amazon packages arrived. I found myself staring at 6-pack box of tissue paper, wondering when I ordered this, and why -- and then staring at it in dry emptiness as the tears that tore tsunamis through me, twisting in torrents through my very inner self, refused to tip out. I went running in the night, the comfort of wild animals -- the sweetly smiling coyote as it ran by in the dark -- making me feel safer than the way he broke me apart.
I found myself asking so many questions. Wondering what ever actually was true, if anything? All the sweet pronouncements about wanting to make me laugh and smile always, and to do anything it took to fight for us. Did he actually ever mean it when he told me "I love you"? Or was he just drunk out of his mind. Was I just a past time, something to occupy his boredom while cooped up inside during the pandemic?
Was that all I ever was?
No, I am not upset. I am fine. I'm good. You did your damage don't worry about the aftermath buddy. Get on out of here.
Ushering him out of the premises with a polite smile and a little joke. He seemed pleased in a surprised kind of way, how easily he got off.
He pulled out his phone as he left and went on his way: a free man.
Behind him, a large explosion erupted, and there was nothing more.
