The last time

The lump in his pocket I felt when waking him make my skin go cold.

The hard, roundness, the unmistakable feeling of a glass pipe. Another glass pipe.

It was the last time. It had to be. My heart hardened. My spirit became numb.

There was no room in my life for glass pipes. For sleepless nights. For the lies.

There was no room in my life for him. Not anymore. It was the last time.

The last time I’d sleep with him beside me. The last time I’d wake him

The last time we’d share a home.

That single lump sealed our sarcophagus, leaving it to the relics of memory

Memory of love. Of lies. Of betrayal. Of dysfunction.

It was the last time I’d be second place to a substance.

The last time I’d experience love, as untrue as it might have been

It was the last time for him. The call from the ICU. The medivac emergency.

It was the last time.