Silence

Think about how I feel sometimes. That is how relationships work.

Silence.

It's been silence for an hour. He's maybe a foot away, talking to her on his computer. Of course. Always on his computer, never with me.

But it's okay, because I love him. And he loves me, I think. I hope. I wish. And so I go down the usual path of thinking of absurd ways

to make him look at me, think of me. I think to cut myself. But there is nothing to cut myself with. So I move on to the next thought.

And the next and the next and the next.

They never become anything more than thoughts. So I just sit here quietly, listening to the songs that do cut me. They cut me

so I don't have to hold the scissors to my wrists. They cut me so he can't see me bleed, but I can still feel it.

Thoughts again. Am I not beautiful enough? Maybe it's my face. I should cut it off. That will fix everything.

No. Silence.

Two hours.

He hears the song about the alligators. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

Silence.

He types sometimes. He tells her things that I can't see. Because he is private. Because there is nothing wrong with it.

But there is so much wrong with it. Nothing right has ever felt like this. They talk and they talk and they talk and they talk

in that silence. 

I want to fill it. I want to fill it with noise, with such a candor that they won't be able to talk anymore. And there will be no more

silence, only my screaming over the piano.

He touches my leg. Tries to be tender. But he feels like knives.

He tells me about her hair. Short or long. I don't think I care. But I get the sinking feeling that he does. She's dangling the bait

right in front of his nose, and he's taking it, all the while telling me he's not already on the hook.

I quit. I am done.

I am leaving, and I'm taking myself with me.

And he won't even hear me say goodbye.