We sat there, she and I,
eating Italian food.
It started well,
pizza, spaghetti, garlic bread,
and a pitcher of beer.
Halfway through dinner,
the mood shifted, just slightly,
but enough.
She mentioned a message
from a woman on social media.
I replied.
The air thickened.
My fidelity stood trial.
I smiled,
careful not to feed the flame.
Her words landed
like small, sharp stones.
Then came the surge,
years of pain spilling back,
quick and unrelenting.
Silence followed.
We stared at each other,
and nothing spoke louder
than what we did not say.
The check came.
She handed me her card.
I pushed it aside and paid.
We boxed the pizza,
crossed the street,
two strangers in opposite directions
sharing the same silence.
She gave me the keys.
I unlocked the doors.
We sat,
me in the driver’s seat,
her in the passenger’s,
silence pooled in our laps,
still as a photograph.
I wondered
if this was how love ends,
not in shouting,
but in silence.
