til death do us part

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I’m leaving you, she announces over breakfast, and he asks her to pass the toast. Later that morning, the pill bottle is empty, but he’s still on his way to work. By noon, she’s fingering cucumbers at the supermarket, her nails shredding the slick skin, and he’s reminding himself not to discuss things with the watercooler. As he signs all his emails with the key to his apartment, she’s making the checkout guy believe in God. At home, the carpet clings…

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