It’s not that I woke up and decided to stop.
It’s that I made your coffee this morning and forgot the sugar.
You didn’t notice.
And I didn’t care that you didn’t notice.
My love isn’t a geyser anymore.
It’s the sigh I don’t release when you tell me about your day.
It’s the goodnight kiss that lands,by habit, on my cheek instead of my lips.
It’s the one extra inch of mattress between us in bed that feels like a canyon.
I didn’t shed caring like a coat.
I just stopped counting how many times you scroll on your phone while I’m talking.
The fights don’t burn anymore;they’re just white noise.
I go to a quiet place in my head while your words are in the air.
I count the tiles on the ceiling.I plan what to make for dinner.
I am just so…tired.
Trying was remembering your mother’s birthday when you forgot.
Trying was biting my tongue to keep the peace.
Trying was that river of gold—every”I’m fine,” every forced smile, every silent tear cried in the shower so you wouldn’t hear.
Now,the well is dry. There are no more tears to cry, no more smiles to force.
My will is simply…gone.
The woman you married would have asked what was wrong.
The woman you married would have fought.
She would have turned your face to hers and demanded you see her.
Now,I just let you be.
I make a sandwich.I fold the laundry. I exist in the same house as you, a quiet ghost in the rooms we painted together.
This isn’t a punishment.
It’s a quiet pulling-in.
It’s the last,frail act of preservation, like a turtle retreating into its shell.
The ship of us has been sinking for years.
I am just finally still,listening to the water, too exhausted to bail anymore.
And the most terrifying part?
The water is not cold.
It feels like peace.
© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi
Ifedolapo Ogunniyi 