The gray, gauzy sky bled sunlight as I wandered around in the backyard, barefoot.  We had another disagreement which became protracted, leaving me to meander to the treehouse; the previous owners furnished it for their kids. I pondered the big questions of life whenever I occupy it. I also go there when I just need to get away from us without stuffing myself into a car and driving aimlessly. I’m never an alert driver in my contemplative phase.

I felt the weight of her eyes upon me like a finger resting tapping my shoulder seeking to turn me around.  It was a battle of wills as I struggled to resist the gravity of her silent demand.  I walked further away, closer to the treehouse to weaken her gravitic tendrils. I tried to think of something pleasant, but could only think about us.  I entered the treehouse, finally.

Since the passing of her father, arguments have become a new routine.  Mostly benign in origin and resolution, but last night was considerably vitriolic. I checked my mental diary I call Why Am I with Her to take inventory for why we should remain together.  I didn’t know which chapter to review first. I paused. Thought. She is palatable to me like I am to her, I supposed. Our love was sepulchral, stable.  I couldn’t see myself beyond her, and for ten years our bond made me secure. I would reestablish my orbit around her, I worried.

For the time being, I stayed in the treehouse staring through a small window at the cardinals repairing their nest, finding myself suddenly envious.

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Mario Kersey possesses a nigh pathological taste for cabbage. When not consuming his leafy obsession he manages to get work published in Iodine, Mixed Mag, CP Quarterly, Dead Skunk Mag.