(no subject)
Egg
he likes his scrambled
she stares at the burning pot
of inedible mess
'it's not you. it's me.' he says.
she stares dully at the pot in the sink, blackened bits and suds pouring over the edges as the tap runs.
he tries again. 'i don't think this is working out. maybe we just need some time apart.'
they've only been together for three weeks.
'i'll call you, later, all right?' and he walks out to pick up his already packed bags in the hallway.
she crushes the shells of the eggs, her fingers sliding through the slime to crack the fragile shell beneath.