Another Amicable Disaster

One of the things that had always bewildered me was that he didn’t read my blogs very often or very thoroughly. I had gotten so used to obsessive, passionate types of men, who craved to memorize my details, who ate away at all my nouns and vowels like a life source. I think somewhere along the way I lost the ability to differentiate between love and madness, I thought to myself, as I pulled my dishes methodically from the dishwasher and placed them one by one on the shelf. Dishes, white and stained blue around the edges, dishes I had split evenly with my ex-husband what seemed like a lifetime ago, leaving me with exactly half an everyday dinnerware set. I wonder what it would feel like to shatter this plate on the floor, I wondered, staring at it, feeling it’s weight in my hands. But of course, I knew exactly what that feels like. It feels really, really good, I thought, placing the plate slowly on top of the others, the grating whisper of ceramic on ceramic, and then silence.

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About A B

"There is all this untouched beauty, the light, the dark, both running through me." -Over The Rhine
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