Late at night, replaying the last time I saw your face, walking in on you, with her, I still can’t place the look of surprise. Was it that I interrupted the date taking place on the porch of the house where I still lived? Or was it the way I broke down in front of you both, delirious, embarrassed and ashamed, begging for some sort of explanation? It doesn’t matter. Anymore, anyway. But I need you to know that THIS is the fracture. This is what broke me. This is crack where two years of laughter and adventure and people telling me I’d never looked happier all live now. All of the good swallowed into the vacancy of your eyes, the coldness in your voice and the way you cavalierly dismissed the trembling mess that stood before you repeatedly asking why.

I go back to that rainy June Saturday, back to that porch and the smell of damp wicker and feel confident, for once, that I finally have my answer.