Marriage

Dear Delyara, We spent three hours deciding who gets the rugs and the coffee maker, as if those things could replace a decade of shared history. Watching him pack his car felt like watching a movie of my life being deleted in real-time. We used to have a secret language, a way of looking at each other that meant everything, and now we speak like polite strangers at a bank. The bed feels like a cold continent now that he’s gone. I keep finding his hair in the sink or a stray sock under the bed, and each time, it’s a fresh wound. I don't know how to be a 'me' without the 'us' I’ve known for so long.