I knocked over an empty wine bottle at the trailing tail end of brunch. Crashed to the ground, pieces everywhere. Three of us in the kitchen. None of us in shoes. All of us trying to pick up the pieces.
And I had a memory of knocking over a glass in the kitchen. Crashed to the ground, pieces everywhere. Me in the kitchen. Not in my shoes. Trying to pick up the pieces.
You wouldn't let me. You reached your arms around my waist and lifted me out of the kitchen. Went back in a cleaned it up.
Our relationship had pretty much gone south by this time. I was not happy. It didn't seem like you were either. I wondered why you stayed. Whether you cared at all. In the midst of this, you lifted me out of harms way.
It said something. More than I heard. But it didn't say everything. Or perhaps not enough. We went back to our mutual misery shortly thereafter.
I am not sure why it came to mind. Or why today, years later, I hear it so much more clearly.
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