plastic erasers

it’s easy to pretend like this is

normal. like sobbing every night before bed

because of yet another argument

is normal.

it’s easy because it’s our only ritual.

we take turns,

switch off being the “better person”

of erasing any feelings and listening to the other.

it’s become so easy that i no longer

remember whose turn it is. i erase

my anger every morning. shut down. i wonder

how long until you do too.

two cups of coffee.

one’s empty,

and the other is getting cold.