Al Anon

A week after I moved out, we stood in the kitchen again passing a joint back and forth. Pretending things were normal, for just five minutes, for the sake of a brief moment of continued regularity, maybe everything could stop hurting for just a little bit.

Somehow it felt new, but this was still the exact same kitchen I had made dinner in every night. The exact same kitchen I baked cookies with your mom in. The exact same kitchen we used to pile with bags of groceries. The same kitchen I accidentally flooded that one time. The same kitchen we made love on the counters in. The same kitchen I used to open the basement door from, and holler to you in the wood shop that dinner was ready. And then again in 5 minutes that it was getting cold goddammit get your ass up here. The same kitchen we sat on the floors of, eating pizza out of our hands, beyond exhausted, the night we moved in.

You stood in the kitchen that day and you apologized to me. You told me you were sorry for dragging me through this with you.

I remember feeling the most angry with you, in that moment.

Fuck your apology, and fuck you.

How was I supposed to rebuild my life, with your apology. How was I supposed to forget how perfect our relationship had been, with your apology. How was I supposed to forget what a monster you had been the week before I moved out. I gave you all of my understanding, all of my patience, all of my trust. What the fuck was I supposed to do now, with your fucking regret.

Its been a year simce then, and I think back to this moment, and every second of it that I took for granted; I am wildly grateful for your apology, and for your recognition that I didn’t deserve the way we ended. I realize now, that apology, will be the only one I ever get.