Ok. How to do this? Where's the manual? She calls, you pick up the phone in the kitchen, she picks up the phone upstairs, she says, Sorry I can't make it. You march up the stairs and say; what's this about? The room turns black. The stairs back to the kitchen turn to water, each stair a wave breaking over your feet, you don't remember arriving.

The kitchen has changed. Suddenly the walls are too white and the faces in the photos watch as she says everything you don’t want to hear. You watch the pieces of life as you know it fall away. You talk. You don't talk. She talks. There is a semblance of dignity in her explanation. There is knowledge of tragedy in your acceptance. Is there life after deception? You start walking on the Moroccan rugs, placing one foot in front of the other like a drunk test. You keep doing this. You are leering for your new life. You try to embrace the idea of freedom -- you think. You tell yourself you never owned her and now there is relief in the concretizing of your worst fear. You think. So many worst fears are coming to life lately. You keep saying to yourself; what next?

This afternoon composed itself long, long ago. Who do you think you are? There on the beach, light sits like a pool. Above it the dark bottom of clouds hang on a slice of gray-blue sky. A thousand white birds speed into view and zigzag away over the shore. Who are you to think that you deserve more than this? She leaves in the car. You have responsibilities. You want to stay healthy but you forgot to eat dinner and your eyes keep locking onto nothing. What next? You walk out of the empty room. Nothing stays the same, but nothing ever gave you the idea that this wouldn't happen. Life as you knew it had moments of joy and hope and you know how to wait for them again.