You never listen
to what I say when it matters. You’re treating this as a ticket to be with other people. I should have seen the symptoms when you stayed on your side of the bed, your body sleeping on the edge, rather than close to me, our feet touching. The last straw was when you came home, your body reeking of musk, the way it used to when we made every space we touched burn. You were never mine and I was never yours.
Art by Bob Schofield @anothertower