A Long Drive to Nowhere

The truth is I may never know what I wanted from you. I only knew what I didn't want. I didn't want what you gave me; even if I needed it. Which sounds completely ungrateful. I'm sorry. I can't think of two more terrible words to use. I want to say, "thank you." But I can't. I'm sorry. I know you are too. I'm not sure how we ended up here. It's not what either of us wanted. And yet, here we are. We both drove us to this point.

This destination was never on my map. Maybe that's part of the problem. I wasn't looking at maps. I was too busy reading the signs. None of the signs I read pointed here. Maybe I misread. There were other signs. Portents. I left a book on the counter and fled because the pages burned my fingers. It felt accusatory, especially the section titled "LOVE TIPS." A stranger had marked the places where things fell apart. Outlined the detours and wrong turns we'd taken to end up here.

It's so easy to misunderstand. I ignore the obvious in favor of the subtext. So much between us was subtextual. We were beneath the surface before we'd even defined the outlines. I was drowning. Maybe you were too.

Today, I wanted to say I was sorry. But what difference would that make? You already know. The apologies lie between us like broken teacups we've forgotten to sweep up. We've cut ourselves open on the shards and these tiny pieces remain embedded in our skin. You'd be surprised how long a piece of splintered porcelain can remain under your skin. I had a fragment of Noritake in my palm for five years. It was too far below the surface to remove. I could feel it under the skin, but had to wait until it worked itself out. Maybe it will be like that for us too.