He doesn't see me. He sees only through me, past me.
He used to never stop looking at me. He'd lie mesmerised on our ratty rug, observing me as I stared at the pockmarked ceiling.
We loved like we'd live forever.
He used to never stop looking at me, now he doesn't even start.
YOU ARE READING
When He Stopped Listening
Short StoryWinner of the 2016 Anti-Watty Awards. his eyes glazed his tea grew cold his calloused hands trembled he gradually stopped listening to me he never came back
