“I’ve got my words. I hope they hurt you.
I hope they scar you. I hope they heal you."
“You think you can just come back after what you did?” He snarled across the kitchen table. He looked older, felt it too. Life hadn’t been kind to him recently. Or his home for that matter. Bottles littered the floor and table.
“What did I do that was terrible?” She snapped back. “I wanted a life,”
“What about me? You left me high and dry, you have no idea what it’s been like since you -”
“Then tell me,” She reached across the table and downed the last of his beer.
It was then he began to cry.
“Make you see that your hands you’re accounted for.
Pick and choose where your sweat and your blood will go.
Make you see your life’s not to be lived alone.
Run their spit through your hair, you’re worth nothing.