She’s tucking her swollen
heart away into a jar now.
“It’s all but useless,”
she whispers to herself.
She swaddles it with his
napkin left on the table,
because then at least she’ll
have some part of him protecting
her still.
Allowing for her purse to
cradle the only unbroken jar
left in the never used pantry,
she steps away from the table
with his eyes still on her every move.
“If you’re going to stare at me like that,
the least you can do is hold the door for me.
A burdened heart is a bit heavier than you
will ever know.”
He pulls her chair back like a gentleman does
and holds the door for her and her broken heart
in a perfect, glass jar.
And he watches her go like a gentleman should
but he didn’t chase after her like the gentleman
she once knew.
She hopes his chest swells
with pride about another heart
he’s broken.
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