She stood over me and let the heartbreaking anger pour from her chest.
Her body poised between me and the door,
I could feel the walls pressing in on us
the room quickly shrinking in size
as though I had suddenly jumped through the looking glass.
Knees pulled to my chest, shielding my heart from the inevitable blows.
Surrounded on all sides by an army of cardboard boxes
packed to the brim with confusion, resentment and fear.
A loaded gun of irony as the Supremes’ album stared up at me.
You could almost hear Diana Ross singing Where Did Our Love Go,
her laughter at the misfortune of our loss
echoing in the moment between promises and forever.

A freight train of love barreling down a different track,
head on collision on my hardwood floor.
I could not pull my gaze away from the wreckage of what was
and what never would be.
The sound of Motown in my head silenced her pain
as she remembered evenings spent playing board games,
the very memory of which had now been stacked and stuffed into this new 2×2 home,
just barely safe from the sparks set off by her gears,
looking to ignite our past into flames and leave me to sweep up the ashes.

Her eyes tore away my flesh and bored holes into my ribs,
splintered the bones and revealed the pool of melted wax
where a candle once stood
when she asked me to verbalize the truth that stood steadfast in the inches between us.
When she asked me to articulate the void in the ventricles of my barely beating heart.
When she asked me to confess to the lie buried deep in the recesses of my gut.
When she asked me to admit I felt


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