We sit facing each other’s demons.
My hands lift the mug to my mouth and you sit and stare at me. Your lips have been moving and my ears have not taken in the sound coming from them, but you’d never know.
You never know.
You lift your mug. It’s the blue mug I got you for your birthday last year. You hated it, but you never went a day without drinking from it, like kissing your enemy’s lips every morning.
You rise and the thread of darkness follows you around the table slowly forming a thin line as you walk away. We are always here. Your demons arouse mine and they stare down each other. Your demons stir mine up but none ever attacks…I heard it was called self-preservation, but baby one of these days, one of these days, we’ll burn down this house, and it’s our love that’d be killed.