My last words infuriated him. I admit to stubbornness, arrogance, not to lack of commitment. Blame myself for the ensuing silence between us.
“Go on with your life,” he hurled, “I with mine.” As if the two years we were lovers meant nothing to him. Perhaps they didn’t.
I’m learning to go forward. Refraining from reflecting on what was or what could have been. Tucking memories of us into the past.
Phone rings. Machine answers. A man’s voice resonates. His.
In the comfort of my couch, a cat arches its back feeling gentle strokes. My tears no longer mat its fur.