The Ghost at the Table

Dear Delyara, We still sit at the same table, but there is an ocean between us. We talk about the weather and the bills, but we never talk about the way we stopped looking each other in the eye. It is a slow heartbreak, the kind that doesn't make a sound. Tonight, I wrote the conversation we are too cowardly to have. I wrote about the loneliness of being in a room with someone who doesn't see you anymore. I poured my resentment and my lingering love into the same bottle of ink. It feels strange to be so honest with a piece of paper when I can't be honest with you. But now that it's written, the weight is off my chest. I can go home and look at you without the anger burning my throat.