My Residual Smile

Somewhere the sun is setting. But not here. It’s so hard to look you in the eyes. But I do. As I turn over in bed, and I can tell, you see it too. I’m leaving you. That’s the sound of your heels on the wood floor. Those are your fingers scratching at the door. This is the smell of snow as I walk out into the cold, and I’m not looking back. I hear you collapse onto the ground. I can feel you curled in the fetal position, as you gently sob to yourself, and wonder why this is happening. Why I’m leaving you. It’s so hard to recapture moments. I’d rather not dwell upon all the ones we had and lost and hear in Regina Spektor songs. You don’t think you’ll ever find love again. You try to think of what you’ve done wrong. How my feelings for you can just leave. How all the promises I made are now gone. Your shuddering body makes the floor creak, as you scream, “Why are you doing this to me?” When I make it to the end of the driveway, with the snow blinding my eyes, I turn back to the house and its one tiny light that bathes your shadow against the ground. And you are crumpled and defeated. The memories of our love come flooding through and leave you sobbing and heartbroken, and deeply abused. I don’t know why, but I’m leaving you.