My Cardboard Balcony

I Cracked An Egg by Belinda Roddie I cracked an egg and let the yolk sift through my fingers like a yellow, sticky sand as you prepared your fav'rite winter stew and hoped that I would lend a helping hand to your cooking endeavors. But, alas, I was incapable of such support, and so I lay upon the couch, a vast ocean of silence between us. You poured two glasses of red wine, and I sat down at the table to indulge in your meal. the wrecked chicken offspring already drowned in the kitchen sink. It all felt unreal, though the flavor of the food brought me back to days of joy - a welcome heart attack.

I couldn't stop crying as I watched the credits roll. The movie hadn't made me teary. Nor had her warm hands against mine caused the water to flow from my eyes, or her hot lips pressed hard against mine. In fact, I was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere darker and colder than I ever imagined. That's why I was crying. To her credit, she held me close, letting me sob into her sweater. She was the first person to ever comfort me in that sort of personal crisis, and that meant the world to me.