A Classic Crime

How could I be sad while eating chocolate cake? I mean, isn't that against the law? Not the law of the land, I mean the laws of nature itself. I could see Mother Nature herself reaching her hand out of the ground and squashing me right here. There would be a booming voice saying, "For the wages of breaking my laws is death." That mother is beautiful, but she is tough.

Tough. That is a good word to describe last night. Maybe it is an understatement. Is that a strong enough word for a night spent crying alone? Alone in a house with someone else in it. Granted she would have probably spent the night crying with me if she wasn't such a sound sleeper. It is amazing how well a few walls can insulate you from someone else's emotions.

My goodness, this cake is good, the icing is my favorite part. Why does it feel like this will be the thing I would miss the most? Her perfect chocolate cake. I might have an idea why. Maybe I should have another slice. I have already eaten two of them though. It might make me sick. Maybe throwing up will distract me from...

I will miss this place. Her place. It is so cold and messy. A sense of recklessness that comes from renting a place that you don't pay the electric bill. A sense of recklessness that she has with most things. Another tear comes down my face. I wipe it before it can ruin a bite of cake but a second and third come down faster than I can catch them.

The realization that she might wake up and come out of her room at any moment snaps me from the crying fit. Will she be awake soon though? She is not an early riser. That fact seemed cute when we first started talking. It was sort of adorable how we could talk all night. The feeling of first sparks seems to be the warmest.

A smile comes over my face as I think about the first month that we had been together. Then I chuckle at the thought of the first years that we were together. I can't help touching the little box in my pocket as my heart is filled with butterflies born in love. The memories of the past six hours come back to the front of my mind and my face sours.

A few profanities slip out of my mouth in a short whisper as another tear storm comes. The feeling of loss strikes me in the stomach and I can't help but count every second she took from me. For a moment I blame her gender but I know that isn't fair. All fresh exes are sexist.

Love is a terrible art. Part of me wants to know when it started with the other man. In my blurry anger, I almost swipe the plate off the table, but that might wake the monster. I need a plan but it feels like broken glass is stuck in my chest.

I breathe. I breathe away the blur from my eyes. I count to ten and then twenty. I stand up from the table and rub the goosebumps from my arms as I walk to the drawer. Collecting the supplies I need to write a note I put pen to paper. No tears as I write. My heart has closed up shop for the time being.

When I am ready I stand by the front door and take one last look over the house. The kitchen is a mess from baking but it makes me smile because we made it a mess. The living room is a mess from a party and it makes me sad because I knew he was at the party too. Suddenly I don't feel so bad for taking a slice of cake with me.