“What do you think? she says for what could be the third or fourth time from her prickly tone.
I do not even pretend I was listening. “About what?”
“How do you know if you’re out of love or just in a rut?
I mean doesn’t every relationship have dud days?”
Oh, yeah, I think, realizing why I fled the conversation.
We have been here before so I know my lines and so does she.
Honest but not brutal.
Sensitive but not gooey.
No action items or accountability check-ins.
And she prefers metaphors.
This is not my relationship, no.
Yes, I tell her again, a relationship is like any moving vehicle.
You can fall out if not tightly fastened in.
A relationship can also be depressed or tired, anemic or comatose.
It may need rest or rehab, sunshine or exercise.
It can lose its way back home, bread crumbs and all.
It may be as broken as an old toaster
Or as right as a finally-settled hardwood floor.
“But how do you know?”
There is deadness in her eyes, a haunting decision.
In darkness, stripped to instinct and heart, choices must be made.