In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, till death do us part. Neither of us were dead, not physically at least. Sitting at the kitchen table only a few feet apart felt like we were on different planets entirely. We both had red and blood shot eyes from the countless tears and so many sleepless nights. My heart, shatered and broken, beat inside my chest, leaving gaping holes with every pulse. Love was never easy. Thats a lie.. love was very easy, life was very hard. Work occupied more time than dinner ever could, more attention than any date night. Stress seaped like an open and infected wound into every last good vein we had like gang green trying to kill us both until it finally won meeting us here, in this very moment at our own kitchen table that was now more yours than it will ever be mine again. My wife, now my ex wife, soon to be another stranger in the street that i pass with an awkward smile through crowded cross walks. The grim reaper didnt come for my life, but he came for my soul. He ripped it out of my beating heart through court papers and the simple phrase “im just not sure this will ever be enough.” The only thing left to give was the gold band on my left hand that i slowly slid off with shaky fingers and i stood up placing it somewhere between each of our worlds. The ring might be in that galaxy, but the indention on my finger that its left over the years couldnt seem to vanish with me out that door.

When one door closes God opens a window. My mother used to repeat in moments of stress, but it never quite took to me. Open windows are reserved for beautiful fall and spring afternoons where the birds are chirping and the leaves are falling and the only thing escaping the windows is the smell of fresh pastries resting on the sill. Summer is too hot with mosquitoes buzzing in looking to find their next meal against my skin, leaving the reminder they were there for days. Winter is too cold with too many snow flakes warping the windowsill. Fall comes too late, spring leaves too early, summer and winter seem to last forever in this home. Always hot and then always cold, fresh pastries never sit in the window. The mosquitos always fly in and the sill is perpetually warped.. God should have kept this window closed instead of nailing it open letting the emelents into our lives with no hope of ever opening a different window. Maybe one with a screen, or one i could close when the season just isnt quite right.

Sticky floors benieth my feet and a speaker with a busted bass blasting in my ear mixed with the giggles of college girls surround me. Another whiskey warmed my stomach as i raise my glass hinting to the bartender that id take another to fill the hole I felt so deep inside. The hole inside my chest felt like the stragest mixture of fire and ice. It burned and yerned all the while being so cold my hands shook and the hair on my arms stood straight up. Another sip down my throat, still no warmth to my outsides. The bar was full but i might as well have been lost at sea, the crowd of people just a mirage to tease my mind. And another sip, this time the fire and ice were starting to mix and create steam inside my belly. Warm, but not hot cocoa on a cold day warm, hot pavement beneathe barefeet warm. Steam that was lifting through my body and slowly escaping the corners of my eyes like a humid summer rain. Another sip and the sleeve of my shirt turning into windshield wipers trying to hide the storm that was brewing. The ice had fully melted through my eyes and the only thing that crossed my mind was i couldnt quite figure out why it was called happy hour at all.