Him

Whether the news affected her, he couldn’t say for sure, never knowing

that deeper, secretive view her heart had taken of the whole numbing matter,

some silent or silenced passion locked away without a key to turn its mystery.

He chose to believe, for the soothing mainly of his own conscience,

that it hit her hard, brick against glass, bullet against bone hard,

shattering her more than anything she had ever heard.

He knew as he lay in the dark crying not as much as he would have thought,

in the moments of silence between his small choked sobs,

that as he listened, he never heard a sound from her.

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