Words dangle from the edge of my lips like a forgotten cigarette. I sip my wine, trying to wash down the bitterness on my tongue, but it lingers, festering, eating me alive.
And he sits.
Cowardly enjoying his meal, smiling at the waitress, calling for another round, but he can’t even muster the courage to meet my eyes. All the power, the charm, the grandiose displays have lost their luster. Their effect is useless on me now, tarnished in the unforgiving light of the truth. Left unprotected, he’s withered beneath it’s rays until only a husk remains, shriveled shell of what he used to be to me.
And I sit.
With the patience of a priest, waiting for the confession that will never come, for an apology that will forever be