There’s something palpable in the silence between two people who have nothing left to say. The “sweety”s and “honey”s are replaced with downcast stares and sad eyes. The guilt and the hurt and the confusion and the pain form together to create this invisible monster that swirls around the room and constricts my chest. Our words are low and tight, and an awkwardness exists that had never been present.
As we talk in cold, clinical terms about who gets which DVD or the extra set of chairs, it all seems so stupid. But it’s necessary, and there are no words that can take away the inevitable. Even knowing that I am the architect of the demolition, it’s the fact that we built it together, brick by brick, that makes it So. Goddamn. Hard. If only I could offer solace or comfort. Something other than quietly saying “I’m sorry”. But I can’t. It’s no longer my place. I gave up that right.
We lapse into familiar routines for an instant. We share a chuckle at an inside joke, and in the space between heartbeats, everything feels normal. But even quicker, reality raps at the door. We finish our conversation and return to that thick, heavy silence. A silence that has now been replaced with the quiet hush of my new empty home.