Wildy the Journeyman (into_the_wild) wrote,
Wildy the Journeyman

:: Anatomy ::

:: Anatomy ::

On this humid, tepid night, the neighborhood turned silent. Even the industrious cicadas and the noisy bullfrogs went quiet. Usually, on a typical night like this, right after dusk, the insects will go about their usual droning. And then, the frogs. With their low-pitched croaks. This was especially pronounced if there was a shower beforehand - a quick drench does wonders for the amphibians, which, refreshed, would emit the lowest, and loudest incessant noises. But tonight is not a typical night.

The plates are breaking again.

There is something melodic about breaking plates. The musical notes that they make when they fragment. In this case, the plates were thrown so forcefully onto the floor that they made a rather high-pitched sound. It was the sound of anger.

You go! Take your things and go! Don’t you ever come back again.

She yelled as she grabbed a random fragile item in her sight. And threw it onto the floor. In the kitchen, there were metallic pots and pans, but they wouldn’t create the impact, would they? Instead she reached for the pile of plates, grabbed one, and hurled it onto the floor.

It smashed into many pieces of pitchy notes. It kept the insects and the amphibians quiet.

What do you have to do this to me? What have I done to deserve this?

She crouched at the corner of the kitchen. She put her hands over her head and her head between her knees. She sobbed. Amongst the remnants of table glassware. And a perfect relationship.

Is it not the most excruciating when the other party keeps silent, and mutters not a single word? Even when confronted with hurtful assertions she made? He said nothing. He grabbed some change of clothes and other essentials. He put them into a suitcase. He open the front door. He paused. He took a last look.


And he left. Such is the anatomy of a breakup.


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