A couple of people said that they really enjoyed my Secret Words post, and the randomly generated prompt from The Daily Post seemed to fit well with it, so here’s the next part. I hope that you like this one just as much.
I wandered into the kitchen while you slept amidst the crumpled blankets. You’d be upset when you woke to find me gone, I knew, but I couldn’t bear the silences broken by arguments that you were having with your subconscious self. I thought that coffee would do me well, but an empty cupboard greeted me when I looked for a mug to make it in. They were piled high in the sink, the remains of our week, the dregs of stilted conversations left to rot. The splintered porcelain of one, or was it two, still littered the lounge floor and I didn’t dare venture in there lest the memories return or my bare feet get shredded along with my mind. By the time your frightened sobs awoke you, I was halfway through the pile.
“You didn’t need to,” you said, wiping tears and sleep from your eyes.
“They weren’t going to do themselves.”
“I’m sorry,” you said as you took your place at my side, watching as I washed the week away.