The first time you cheated on me, you cried over the phone.
“We have to talk,” you said.
We walked in bruised silence through the park, then sat and stared over the hill.
“I don’t understand,” I said at last.
“Let me explain,” you told me. “We’re not a couple.”
David still doesn’t get it completely.
“How are you?” it starts.
“I miss you,” he says.
“When are you coming over?” he asks.
I say I’m fine. I tell him I’m busy. I say I’m too tired to come over right now.
I waste platitudes on him when I should just say two words: “It’s over.”
Lucinda is a housewife, blogger, and aspiring writer. She is currently experimenting with different writing styles, hoping to enhance her somewhat rusty writing skills.