That night

I lifted my head and meant it.

Your eyes lowered and you looked to the wall.  “What happened there?” you asked.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” I replied.  “It’s not important”.

“So it had to do with him,” you said. “So it was him.”

“Would you stop with that?” I pled.  “Stop”.  

So many yells, I remember, as I was in San Fran, walking down to the wedding and you screamed aloud, and I cried louder..“What did you want of me and what could you ask of me?” I sobbed. “I failed at both.  I failed at it all”.

I sat and cried as you yelled still.  Until you became still.  I laid down.The drawer of knives was empty that night, as you looked for one,I hid them all. I had hid them first