life turned, pages in a book. chapters, bookmarks, highlights, notes. you jumped into it as it came, the story just unfolded. it was overwhelming understanding that the twists came with it, that the predictions were just that. all the things you thought you knew were just answers bubbling back up from yesterday. she was still yelling as his mind wandered, about it being over, about things he already knew. he was thinking about what was next, her anger was meant to cover the desperation, he felt neither, the bed was made. ‘aren’t you going to say something’ she was pacing now ‘or are you just going to sit there and pretend like it doesn’t matter. pretend like you don’t care. hide away until you don’t have to face feeling something anymore’ she wanted to provoke something, that was clear, what though, even she wasn’t sure. ‘it doesn’t though’ he had his hands clasped on his lap, sitting casually on the arm of the couch. ‘what doesn’t’ she snapped, ‘matter’ he stood up and walked toward the kitchen, waiting for the inevitable reply. it didn’t come. the front door slammed as he spread some peanut butter on toast. he did care, cared that his ambivalence must have hurt and confused her. what he didn’t care about was the finality, because that was good, better than the scars that would’ve come from dragging each other along. the over part scared people because it felt like failing, but it was just learning. just another chapter, another beautiful footnote that meant something once.