After the Storm

I look out over what’s left of us. Everything thrown back and into the wind by the storm. The valuables are shattered. The love letters are beyond repair. I’m digging through water-logged possessions in desperation. Is not one thing salvageable?

 “I tried to save it,” I hear myself say. “I tried, I tried, I tried. But it’s ruined.”

I look out over what’s left of us. Everything thrown back and into the wind by the storm. My skin crawls with bedbug lies. I sleep covered in six-legged nightmares. Everywhere I go, I feel them following in my shadow. Is not one place safe?

“I can’t live like this,” I hear myself say. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I will die.”

I look out over what’s left of us. Everything thrown up and into my lap by the storm. The pictures disintegrating in soppy, Technicolor rainwater. The ceiling dripping into my hopeless, clean hands. His hands are covered in blood.

“I love him,” I hear myself say. I feel myself shake with the thick silence that follows, the silence that says, But it doesn’t matter.

I look out over what’s left of us. I reach for the doorknob. The light is blinding. He doesn’t follow me. I walk away from his flood alone.