I’m sitting here across from her and the chicken is too dry but I’m eating it anyway because what the hell else am I gonna do and we’ve got exactly fourteen days left in this place before the lease is up and we just go our separate ways after twenty goddamn years. It’s quiet as hell in here except for the sound of the fork hitting the plate and I can’t stop thinking about how I’ve spent my whole life chasing the next gig and the next paycheck but I’ve got nothing to show for it and now I’m sixty-two and losing the only person who actually gave a shit about me. things I didn't do right: 1. i never got that staff job with the 401k even when she begged me to stop freelancing and get some stability 2. i spent the rent money on new gear three times in 2014 and lied about it 3. i stopped asking her how her day was because I was too busy worrying about my own stupid deadlines 4. i let the house get quiet years ago and just never bothered to turn the music back on 5. i'm the one who suggested the two-week deadline because I'm a fucking coward who can't handle a slow breakup It’s the way she’s looking at her glass of water and not at me that really hurts but I deserve it because I’ve been a ghost in this house for a decade and all I do is hustle for these clients who don't know my name and I’m terrified of what comes next because when you're my age and you're starting over without a safety net you realize how much you fucked up. I’ve been doing these delivery runs and the graphic design jobs on the side and I’m exhausted but I have to keep moving because if I stop I’ll have to look at the fact that I’m old and alone and broke and I’ve got no one to blame but my own goddamn self. She finally said something about the salt and it was the most normal thing she’s said in a week and I almost started crying right there into the mashed potatoes but I just nodded and pushed the salt shaker over and our fingers brushed and it felt like an electric shock of everything we used to have. We used to talk for hours about the places we’d go when we finally had the money but the money never came because I kept chasing the "big break" that was always just around the corner and now the only corner I’m turning is into a studio apartment I can barely afford on my own and she’s going to her sister’s place in the city. I look at my hands and they look like my father’s hands and that scares the SHIT out of me because he died alone in a shitty apartment too and I thought I was better than that but here I am at sixty-two realizing I haven't built anything that lasts. I’ve got a portfolio of work for companies that don't exist anymore and a bunch of half-finished projects in the closet and a woman across the table who doesn't want to talk to me and I just want someone to tell me it’s not as bad as it looks but I know that’s a lie. The real reason it’s ending is because I stopped trying and I thought she’d just always be there while I figured my shit out but you can’t ask someone to wait forever while you chase ghosts and I feel like a goddamn FAILURE for letting the best thing in my life just slip away because I was too proud to admit I couldn't make it on my own. I want to tell her I’m sorry but the words feel like stones in my mouth and I know an apology now is just a way to make myself feel better and it wouldn't change the fact that the boxes are already stacked in the hallway. And tomorrow I have to get up at 5am to do that site inspection for the contractor gig and then I have to come home and pack the kitchen and she’ll be at work and I’ll be alone with the memories of every meal we ever cooked here and it’s going to be fucking brutal. what the next fourteen days look like: - packing the books we bought together and pretending I don't care who gets the Hemingway - calling the electric company to SHUT IT OFF and feeling like I’m turning off my whole life - sleeping on the left side of the bed because the right side feels like a graveyard - trying not to look at her when she comes through the door because I know she’s been crying - wondering if I’ll ever have a dinner that isn't this quiet again I’m just sitting here and the clock is ticking and I’m thinking about how I should have taken that office job in '08 but I wanted to be my own boss and look where that got me—I’m my own boss of a company of one and the office is closing down for good. I’m tired and I’m old and I just want to go back and do it all different but I can't and the lease is up and the world keeps moving and I’m just going to be another guy in a small room wondering where the time went and hoping someone remembers I was even here at all.