At some point when I realized the collapse of our life together wasnít going to be some Nora Ephron movie of two people saying ďoh, gosh, we are both so much better without each other,Ē I stood in our bedroom looking at you with beating heart.
I am so hurt inside I would fall to my knees and beg, I would sit for hours and tell you how neglectful a husband I was, I would hold you and wipe your eyes as you cried the pain of living with me and worrying if your lover will reject you.
And my heart keeps beating. Why canít I just get a good breath? I canít breath. I mean, I think I will really not get through the next minute. I need you to say something to make this pain go away. I canít do it myself. I canít make you stop loving him. You tell me you wish you could stop, but you canít.
So, I look up and I look at you and I look into your eyes. My head spins a bit. My mindís eye is half in my brain and half a mile up in the sky looking down. And your eyes are green and your face is flat without smile or grimace or sorrow. Your eyes look towards me. But they donít pierce. They donít question. They don't touch me. They are empty. There is no compassion in your eyes. There is no love. There is no respite from my pain.
And I ask if there is any hope.
And you say, ďI am 95% gone.Ē
And I know you are 100% gone.
And my eyes are wet, and I canít breath, and my heart keeps beating so hard. And a minute passes. And then another.