Slipping

Subsiding, leaving me alone. Predictable and just as unavoidable. We felt you slipping, your fingers no longer holding onto mine. Not even trying to hang on until the Spring, not even giving me more than a few words of an explanation as you buried all communication under a sea of missed calls and impersonal half-sentences. Saying not much, saying nothing at all. I’m tangled beyond belief, and you can only look on from a distance and wonder what she’s doing, why she’s not understanding or leaving you in enough peace.

 

Note: this was written on Saturday in a far-too-loud coffee shop, and I believe it to be fiction.