Stubborn Bull

He has things to hide now. She knows it, in the same way he senses her vague secrets. Who is he texting? Who is she texting? Why does she come home late from work? Why isn't he here when she gets home from work? Love can make you psychic, but they are too ashamed of the failure to really listen to the answers, or really care to. What did it matter now. A person wants to feel valued, and they were too bitter to provide that reassurance to one another. Other people can provide it, in a limited way. A very limited, but effective way. Also, in a horridly depressing way -- most likely. But she sabotaged it all, he sabotaged it some, and now, well, co-living in an empty space? What's worse for her is that she has no place of refuge but the bathroom stall on the fifth floor of her work. Not many women use it, not many people on the floor. There she can emotionally wreck herself on the toilet, blow her nose, wipe the runny mascara, and pull herself together for another 4 hours, or 2, or hour and a half. Today she did not last 4 hours.

Eyes swollen, tired, wet, and heavy hidden within the jungle of beige cubicles. Grateful for the cubicles.Grateful for the job. Grateful for the release of emotion that has finally swelled so high, even she, the stubborn bull, couldn't contain it. She was worried about her lack of emotion over the last few months. She can put up a wall so high she can barely see over the top of it. All to stay  to "hang in there." However, now that she was being told to do so with contrived compassion from him, she could do nothing more but imagine taking a metal baseball bat to his Gibson SG. She clearly needs time to release the residual bitterness from the months leading up to the fall out. As for now, she knows that it is time to rebuild. Not so much the wall, but the foundation for a stable home. A stable woman, girl, and being -- on top of the hill where the wildflowers are.