Twirling a wooden spoon through the boiling pot of soup, you come across the idea of throwing the whole damn pot at him as soon as he walks through the door. He promised you he’d be there; you told all of your friends, and they told all of theirs. But when it came time for your birthday party, he was no where to be found.

“I should’ve known,” you whisper to the cold air, “ I shouldn’t have let him fool me like that. Not again.” You clutch the wooden spoon attempting to stop your tears from entering your conversation, but its no use. As you wipe your tears, you foolishly try to pry your mind off of the idea that he would never care about you as much as you cared about him. You lift the cheap wooden spoon to your chapped lips and try to fix your sad excuse of a meal.

Needs salt.

As you stroll over to your pantry, you notice that your stride lacks the rhythm it once had. Looking down at your thighs, you contemplate what made you stay here. What made you want to give it another try? What made you want to give him another try?

Suddenly, your train of thought is broken with the jiggle of your door handle. It was him. You eyes jolt around the apartment, looking for a place to hide. No use.

“Hey you,” he began, “how was your day?”

You were still considering throwing that pot of soup at him, if only you had the strength to move.