Well, you've gone and done it now. 

 

You've gone and said the words we both knew you were bound to say eventually. And you know what?

 

This whole time, I thought that this moment would bear no sorrow. But, evidently, I was wrong. 

 

It's something about the way you said it.

 

It's something in the way you articulated each syllable.

 

It hurt.

 

It hurt to watch those words dash from your mouth. Dash, as if there were nothing there to stop them.

 

In the past, I would be upset because I knew how you felt. I knew the way you looked at me. I knew those thoughts that you were tempted to speak into reality. I knew that shame that you forced upon me all too well. 

 

But, for the first time...

 

I heard you say it. 

 

Out loud.

 

For the walls and the floors and the chairs and the tables and the windows and the ceiling to hear.

 

The couch where we would sit and laugh? It heard you. 

 

The dining room? Where we would have those profound conversations? It heard you too.

 

And the pictures..

 

Oh, God. The pictures. 

 

You've gone and broken their little hearts. 

 

They're in more disbelief than me.

 

Here I am sitting on this bed.

 

Mouth open. 

 

In disbelief. 

 

I've spent too many nights crying over things that you would say. 

 

Crying to make myself stronger.

 

More independent. 

 

Bulletproof. 

 

And with three simple words, you've broken that. 

 

Shattered it.

 

Well.

 

You've gone and done it now, dear.

 

You washed away 17 years of happy memories. 

 

How can I ever forgive you?