I kept my winter coat wrapped 
around me 
like it would 
be ripped 
from my body. 

Walking into your house, 
I could taste the lingering 
cigarette smoke. 

When silence felt suffocating, 
we tried humor.
 
Finally you asked for 
what we both knew 
I would not, 
perhaps could not, 
give. 

My feeling of resolve 
demanded our attention. 
I became aware that this time, 
this meeting, 
could not be kept afloat 
from half of myself 
given to you. 

I could not offer pieces 
and call that love. 

In that moment on the 
floor of the room 
where we both built 
and collapsed 
it was decided there would 
be no last time. 

I took responsibility for my 
own feelings. 
I took my healing seriously.

As if planned,
memories of the last 
2 years played before us 
in the realization 
that I would no longer fit, 
these were patterns 
I could not sustain. 

I remembered the day 
you bought this house 
and we stained the floor 
installed a new rug 
that we now baptize 
with the remnants of grief. 

We opened the door, 
gutted the house and 
attempted to restore 
what we could. 

As I went to leave, 
I did not look back 
in your direction. 
I left the key on the kitchen table. 

I left us on the living room floor.