Sitting in his piece of shit car under the cover of night is when he chooses to tell me he’s leaving. I watch the shadows cross his face as he says, “I’ll probably regret this for the rest of my life.” I hope he does. I should feel worse than I do, but instead I delight in the way the tree branches play with the street light. The same tree that I carved our initials in, where we stood under its canopy and tasted our first rain-soaked kiss. I can still taste it now if I let myself linger there too long.
Distant sounds start to crowd my head, a thousand buzzing bees rush in, and I make my exit. After all, it’s what he wants. To be free of me. When I wake in the morning…
Sunlight filters in
his name on Caller ID
I just let it ring.