You Forgot to Say

You left the house before I woke. I heard the screech of your tires as you pulled away, pedal to the metal as always. So impatient, maybe still a little angry. I lay alone, watching the early morning sunshine poke tempting tendrils through the blinds. Yes, I had provoked you. Accused you of leaning to the right just a little more than before. According to technology, our algorithms no longer align it seems. You lashed out. Not physically, but verbally your tongue was as sharp as the blade of a butcher's knife. "There you go again," you said. "Always piping up for the underdog. Do you even listen to yourself anymore? Whose rhetoric are you actually spouting? Those crocodile tears are ridiculous. If you care so much just get off your arse and go and do something. You used to be fun. We used to laugh. I'm going to bed." That's not verbatim but you get the picture. I drank more wine, cried a little, scrolled through my feed, cried some more, staggered to bed. You weren't there, nor was your pillow. I was too pissed to care. 

The dog licks my hand, and I move my fingers, shaking off the morning stiffness. I scan my body, noting any aches and pains, the dry mouth, and the slight headache. I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for the silk wrap you bought for me in Bali a few years ago. It has seen better days; I have seen better days. I massage my temples and try to focus. The wedge driving its way between us is political. Yet neither of us are. The world is splitting itself in two, some veering right and others left. We are now on different sides, you and I. There is a kind of no-man's-land in the middle. If you pull and I push we might make it there, try to re-align our algorithms, but I think it could be too late. 

Too late, because you forgot to say that the qualities you slammed me for last night are the qualities you loved me for in the first place. My big heart, my inability to understand the motives behind the tragedies that are destroying our world, my tears of compassion, my ability to laugh at myself in the face of danger. You forgot to say that, despite my faults, you still love me. 

I stand up and go into the kitchen, fill the kettle and lean heavily on the counter, waiting for it to boil. I get bored, go to the pantry and take out the box containing my favourite cereal. I see you have helped yourself and forgotten to re-seal the inner sleeve. I push away my annoyance and open it fully. Inside, nestled on top of the cereal, is a purple post-it note. 

"I am so, so sorry. I will always love you for who you are, for the way you think and act. I forgot that last night, but I never will again. I adore you."