Fixated on the green kitchen tiles,

I sit perched on the chipped wooden chair.

My palm stings from the coarseness,

a reminder of what’s coming.

My fingers dig deeper.

Zoomed out of focus,

a snapshot in the making,

regret spills

from my cracked lips.

My fingers dig deeper.

A reel of memories plays back,

laughter, smiles, touches,

slamming, breaking,

screaming.

My fingers dig deeper.

Time will not heal,

the rubble between us.

The divide widens

with each confession.

My fingers dig deeper.

He doesn’t hear the declaration,

the freedom that is so close to ringing out.

He doesn’t accept my leaving;

calls it desertion.

My fingers dig deeper.

He pushes me backward,

a resounding crack.

My vision a fragmented kaleidoscope.

And still,

my grip never falters.

My fingers dig even deeper.