Breaking point
We lay side-by-side on the bed we shared for years, both defeated, both shining with sweat from the relentless summer heat. Our bodies were so close to each other, the heat tied us together, as if we were touching, even though we were careful not to. I was turned towards our bedroom window, the one that faced the street with the perfect view of the neighboring apartment’s trees, and all I could think about was how much I didn’t know you. 5 years of being together, and I’m still in bed with a stranger.
Hours of yelling, months of crying alone, unforgivable deeds committed by the both of us. Covered and then discovered. Trust abandoned only to be replaced with blame. Relief from the silences forged by distance. Fear of wasted time, fear of being alone. But then again, aren’t I already alone in this?
Our bodies were paralyzed, and we stayed there, together in the silence. Exhaustion has taken over, and we were out of new ways to hurt each other. But even more than that, we didn’t want to waste the energy into something that was surely dead.
You finally broke the stillness. “Are you hungry? Do you want to get dinner with me?” I nodded in response.
And just like that—it was over. We both climbed out of bed, slipped on our shoes, and walked outside to find a restaurant and air conditioning.
