Everything’s Fine

I contemplated leaving you when you said everything was fine.

I could read your eyes like an eight ball and with each roll or squint, the answers screamed no. Not any kind of scream. Not the blood curdling horror movie scream nor the anticipated roller coaster drop or corkscrew scream.

It was the silent type of scream. The kind of scream that holds the potential to be so loud, it tugs at my larynx even though no sound is coming out. The kind of scream I give myself permission to do in some dive bar bathroom, when I know our friends are on the other side of the door ready to greet me with a round of tequila shots, minutes after we fought when searching for a parking spot. It’s the kind of scream that’s equivalent to a yawn because I find myself doing it when I am past the point of feeling tired of your shit.

I contemplated leaving you when you said everything was fine.

You kept your hands busy, scrolling through an archive of conversations filled of heart-eye-emoji and compliments I’d love to give you if I had a reason to conjure up the words. My words used to fulfill you like cups of coffee or vitamin supplements; but the problem with those two things is they fall into some routine. You wake up, pour yourself a cup, pop in a couple of these, a few of those and go on with your day. You go on with your day and promise that I am on your mind but based on the way you look at me, I know I weigh you down like a migraine.

I contemplated leaving you when you said everything was fine.

You know how I despise the word fine. What’s fine? The weather. Your salary. The drive-thru line at Starbucks. What does that have to do with us? Our days aren’t forecasted. And if they were, it’s been rain, rain, rain since who knows when. You’ve found your clear skies in someone else I’m sure. She’s warm and welcoming. You love to sunbathe in her all day long. Days with her blend into night but somehow, the darkness stays with me. I move like an overcast and she can spot a storm like no other.  

When you come home at night, you fall asleep in our bed and sail off into some dream. The ocean in your dreams must be dark and murky like a swamp. How comfortable you are harboring in your guilt. You sit back and relax and let her steer. She’s your captain happiness and can find all the patches of clear skies that bring light to your justifications. She’s fun and adventurous. Spontaneous even. Pays no mind to the ring on your left hand as you explore her like uncharted territory.

I wonder how often you are reminded of me when there’s an abrupt overcast of clouds in your clear skies. I wonder if she too lets out a silent scream in her bathroom after you leave. I wonder if there are rain storms in her mind when you aren’t around for a day or two.

I wonder if you tell her that everything is fine.