Twelve.
Thirteen. Fourteen.
She counts them
once again;
the broken
glass shards on the floor.
A bike
whizzes past with a flash.
It is all
dark outside now.
She saw the
last light across the street
turn off half
an hour ago.
Where is he?
Her eyes have
run out of tears.
All that
remains is a dry stream of saltwater
travelling
down her left cheek-
a line stark,
yet vulnerable.
What went amiss
tonight?
A kiss. A shove.
A few angry words.
Her right
answers to his wrong questions.
And suddenly,
the act was over.
Was it not
relief she felt at first?
Guilt quickly
followed on its heels though.
He said
nothing,
but the proof
was in his vacant eyes.
She heard a
vase shatter in the next room;
then the
front door banged shut.
That was when
she knew
she’d broken
him.
‘I’ll
apologise’, she muses.
But sorry
doesn’t sound like enough.
Hunger pangs cringe
inside her;
it has been
long.
His phone
lies on the table,
the memory of
some happy day
captured on
its wallpaper.
She can only
wait now.
