“Do you have any idea just how ridiculous you look?“
He had drawn blood.
We had known worse insults in the ten years of wielding this razorblade relationship.
Dancing barefoot on the cullet – each piece a fractured “I love you”, we laughed and kissed and made love on the broken glass unscarred.
It was the cutting acidity with which he had spat out the words now lying on the floor between us edge up.
Recoiling at the thought of blatant self-mutilation, I beat down the urge to step forward and throw my arms around him.
We both knew there was nothing left.