the edge was clean as it made its first slice. the plate was empty as we took up our knives.
i bit down hard on what little remained. her body a fruit rotting on the vine. her words wet paper.
tasting her indifference. spoiled by her hunger. knowing we had found each other, but lost ourselves.
calculating our mutual conceits. unable to reconcile
i let her die. because living had never been kind to her.
the world forgot easily enough.
but i still remember.