The Apartment

The day love started drifting away, conformity made its way through the door.

She was sitting on the red kiddy table set against the wall, sipping on a scorching cup of tea and nibbling on a cheese roll, while he rambled on about something or another that she couldn’t keep up with because she was drowning in her own head. She kept staring at him, nodding her head every now and then so it would look like she was actively participating in the monologue. But she wasn’t. She was drowning in her own head, realizing how severely fragile their relationship was. She always referred to it as holding water. No matter how hard you try to keep it between your fingers, it always runs away, leaving you empty.

It was this same water that was swooshing in her mind. She knew this, so much, that when he stopped in his tracks and asked her what was going on, all she could say was:

–mmm, nothing, nothing really

–but you look as though something’s on your mind

–there’s always something on my mind

He had moved into the apartment a few weeks before. It was a two bedroom apartment on the last floor of the building. It had an open floor plan with high vaulted ceilings that made it look bigger than it actually was. The lack of furniture made it seem even bigger. Like a pair of pants two sizes two big that not matter how much you try to keep cinched to your waist, they always end up falling off. A sectional sofa they selected together in Rooms To Go, the small brown TV unit they built together from Ikea and a king size bed that was heavier than a dead body – which they barely carried up three flights of stairs – were the only furnishings decorating the place. Scarce could be the word, but the real wanting in there wasn’t furniture, it was decision.

Uncertainty hung in the air like a weak ceiling fan, creaking as it turned feeling nauseated from so much spinning. It was so palpable she could’ve sworn she felt it go through her entire body, as if she had been coated with haze. Life, for them, always depended on something or another to which she had no power over, no control over, no saying over. That night, she went to bed knowing there was nothing left to do but to brace herself for what was coming.

She began going through the motions of everyday, breathing deeply every morning, knowing with certainty that the day was coming, she just didn’t know when or how. The impending arrival of her very own dooms day weight her down, but she moved swiftly, stepping carefully over each egg shell. She succumbed to what was written.

*photo credit:

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