implosion.

he says he no longer knows if this is something that will work for him.
he doesn't say it's what he wants.
he's not sure.

he says that today was all about destruction. that nothing about it was
opportunity
or
growth.
just destruction and failure.

he can't do it anymore.
he says he no longer has the resiliency for this kind of thing.
that it can never happen again.

and in all the sideways ways, he punishes me.
I've said sorry and I've rolled to my back and told him what wounds got scratched and where the pain is and how it haunts me and how I'm working on it with every resource that I have.
And, his eyes stay flat and he doesn't even cry anymore.
He's gone.
I've lost him.

Tonight we sleep in separate rooms and my insides collapse like a building imploded.
all ash and dust.
all ash and dust.
The feral child in me, who rolled this ball into motion, wails and cries and laughs, "told you so."
I want to die.
That's her again.
I want to die.

I've failed at love again.
He said so. He calls this a failure. And, because it started with me and because it is mine, I am responsible for this failure.
I have lost the man who lit up to see me, who loved me through everything, who loved me as me.
except this part of me. Because she has scratched him with poison claws and now he is sick with hopelessness and sadness.

How am I here?
my emptiness is endless. my sorrow without hope.
my love lies gasping, waterless and alone.