Brass Knob

No explanations presented themselves no ingenious stories were available no excuses came bubbling up to slow the disintegrating curtain currently lowering onto the darkening stage of our relationship. No resistance flowed from my heart my mouth opened to exhale only silence as she walked toward the door. Each step away reverberated with consequences flooding my mind with a dizzying tilt-a-whirl flurry, my chest tightened ferociously around my breath time dissolved into a candled frame by frame existence. She came to a stop and with her hand reached and grabbed the worn brass door nob we’d found together at a flea market, her innocently wrinkled fingers rotated the knob clockwise opening the door flooding the entry with gray light that rushed in from the rainy outside world quickly transforming the entryways warmth into a tabloid lining a pissed stained litter box. Immobilized with blindness I listened to her exit to the outside, and she quietly pulled the door shut behind her.

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