Is This Relationship Over?

I asked if the relationship was over while taking clean sheets out of the dryer. There is something insulting about fresh laundry during emotional collapse. The sheets were warm. I was not.

Death did not arrive like a villain. It arrived like an empty hook where his jacket used to be. Quiet, factual, a little dusty.

Ten of Swords looked dramatic, but honestly I felt too tired for drama. Sometimes the ten swords are not one betrayal. They are ten small mornings where nobody reaches across the bed.

Temperance asked whether anything could be mixed back together without poisoning both cups. I did not know. Some things separate for a reason. Milk curdles too, and nobody calls it a spiritual transition.

Six of Cups tried to bring sweetness in. I let it. The first months were sweet. I am not going to lie just to make leaving easier. But sweetness is not a lease agreement.

I wrote: over does not always mean loveless. That sentence hurt because I wanted a simpler death certificate.

At 10:57 p.m. I folded the fitted sheet badly and got angry at the corners. It seemed unfair that fabric could also refuse to cooperate.

Maybe it is over. Maybe it is ending slowly because neither of us wants to be the person holding the scissors.

I left the sheet half-folded on the chair.