Flames

The stereo clattered across my visual plane, getting caught only mid-flight by speaker wires vestigially attached to the rear.  He was going to leave soon, I hoped. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine him gone, tried to imagine myself in the apartment alone, some soft piano music, a cup of coffee, the sun light streaming through the bay window we had so easily imagined for two.  I had to vanquish those thoughts from my mind now, though, as much as I used to rely on them to survive, those piercingly idealistic meanderings.  I had to face a few facts, all of which were related to my survival.

The cd player came next, soaring in silence for a few seconds, before joining the receiver.  I shuddered and covered my eyes with my hands.  My palms were cold and the skin rough, my heart rate as if I'd been running in brisk weather.  He stormed to the kitchen, and the door of the dishwasher came down and bounced back up as he retrieved his precious mug. Why couldn't I have just left it alone?  How could I have been so nonchalant?