I spoke. She was silent. My confession hung in the air between us.
“I…” she started her sentence but never finished, her voice trailing out into a whisper. It was as if she had run out of words.
I just looked at her, waiting for something. Waiting for her to speak again, for her to make any sound at all. She was still. No sobs, no sniffles. Her shoulders didn’t quake and her lips didn’t tremble.
I felt I should apologize, but I didn’t speak either.
She looked broken. Utterly broken. The urge to take her in my arms and soothe away the hurt was unbearable. I wanted to thumb away her tears and kiss her eyelids. I needed to do something. But her silence felt like an impassable barrier, a physical force stopping me from doing anything whatsoever. I watched helplessly as her eyes dripped rivers of hurt down her cheeks.
What could I even do though, to make this right? Was it even possible, to fix something so destroyed as us, when you were the one responsible for wrecking it?
The look in her eyes said no. She could always sense where my thoughts were going, always knew what I was thinking before I thought it. There was no fixing this. Her lips had no words for me, but her eyes said it all.