In spring, you moved into a small house.
There were two of everything, every household necessity. The slippers and toothbrush cups sat snugly side by side.
You said, "This will be our home from now on. We can see each other every month. I'll make lots and lots of delicious food and wait for you to come home from work."
"I wish we could see each other every day. Even when we're old and gray, I want us to be together."
The eighth month after the breakup. You asked, "Could you come over and spend your birthday and New Year's with me?"
The ninth month after the breakup. The weather was clear, and everything was ordinary.
I said, "Let's end this."
You replied, "We ended a long time ago."
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Couldn't sleep in the middle of the night, so I just wrote something. Incoherent rambling, entirely fictional. No one in the story is right or wrong.
Theme: None
