She showed up at my house this morning. Unannounced. Smelling putrid, sweaty. "Can I please stay? Just one night," she says. "I have court tomorrow." A fool, I say, "Yes. Just bathe before you lie in my bed." "As of this moment, we're not together." She makes the statement matter of fact-ly at first. Then looks to me for an answer … her heart longing to know if it's really over. "We haven't been for some time," is my response. Silence screams from her eyes, muffled by contempt, disdain. I leave closing the door, gently so as not to disturb her muted symphony of obscenities raging deep in her dome. As I sulk away from the door, away from my house, away from her, "Fuck you, Tesha," follows, quiet as snail footsteps, somehow still heard by neighbors. I chuckle because all I can think is, "You already have."
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