The sadness is returning again like an old hag that never really died–just took a long(er) nap.
I choke back the words I wish I could say without infuriating you. I’m just trying to help, I say, sitting awkwardly next to you–nearly silent–while you look most stoic.
I can see it in your eyes–I’m no longer the apple. There is no apple.
This was fruitless.