conflict resolution.

“a person alone conjures rules / or can liquefy, fall apart.”
            ”sometimes absence / makes the heart grow sluggish / and desire only one person, or one thing.”
                                      -stephen dunn, the snowmass cycle

“let’s go to bed,” he said.

“i’ve driven miles for you and back again,” she said. “it’s not that easy.” they both reached for the cigarettes on the table between. she paused, drawing back. “never mind,” she mumbled. “i forgot i quit.” after a half-pause, he grabbed one, lighting it slowly and deliberately. he took a drag before handing it to her. 

the silence was sharp in her ears. the nicotine did nothing for her headache. crossing to the balcony rail quickly, she threw her cigarette butt. when it hit the cement, it made a brief presentation of orange sparks. she rubbed her forehead, wished she had something else to throw. the tension made her body hum. “i can’t live like this anymore,” she told him, finally.

he lit another cigarette, did not meet her eyes. “i’ve told you everything,” he said. “God, you know my biggest secret.”

“you haven’t told me anything in months. we’ve haven’t talked, not any kind of talking that counts, not for weeks.”

“you left,” he said, almost dully. he wasn’t emotionless; she knew that—it was simply hidden there, somewhere she used to go and no longer could.

she sighed. “let’s go to bed.”