She said she was finished.
She just couldn’t take any more of this.
I was going nowhere and she was falling with me.
I wasn’t the same person she met long ago.
She said that person died and her life was the funeral.

She gathered her things.
To be honest I thought this was just a dream.
A bad dream, but reality ran her fingers down my back.
Dreams never hurt this badly.
It wouldn’t be wrong to say I was bleeding.

My thoughts poured out onto my floor.
Flushed from my head.
My tongue rowed against the current, but I couldn’t convince her to stay.
I don’t think God himself could’ve done that.
But to be fair, what have I ever done for him?

She screamed some more, just made more noise at me.
I just sat on the mattress, a place we used to share in times of friendship and then love.
Watched the tear drip to the floor on to the rug.
The rug was a strange colour, something between Frootloops and *****.
It’s even stranger how one notices these things at times like this.

She called herself a fool and me something far more hateful.
She cursed me, stomped me flat out, I was gasping for air.
I begged for her to see me through to the end, I would do the same for her.
She looked up, her mascara was running and she was silent.
The broken glass from the picture frame she threw said it all.

She finally finished packing her things.
It took a small eternity for her to stuff the small luggage.
She grabbed her coat and started to put it on.
She pulled her arms through the sleeves.
The sound of it reminded me of gunfire.

It’s funny how time flies when you’re having fun but misery will drag it on for years.
The world seems to be built on ironies like this.
It almost makes me believe God has a sense of humour.
I cried as I heard the punchline.
Too bad it wasn’t “haha” funny.

It was finally quiet, well, except for the pounding of my heart.
I got up and walked to the window to watch.
She turned and faced me for the last time.
Her ruined makeup, hair was a mess.
What have I done.