Sometimes I forget that she has feelings, that she isn’t calloused over or numb like me. I forget, and I say things because I don’t think anyone is ever listening anyway so what comes out of my mouth doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said that I thought it, but I did.
And now she is silent.
Another time, we were on the couch and I asked her what she was thinking. That time, I was silent–each of us on separate ends of the couch. She looked into the distance, past the Dalí print on my wall, and said she was thinking nothing. That was a lie. Any time anyone says they are thinking nothing, it is a lie. All we do is think. Brains processing billions of bits of information. Even when we are unaware of it, we are thinking. She was thinking of leaving.
And then shortly thereafter she did.