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LIFE | RELATIONSHIP
The Kiss of Freedom
It had been fermenting. Like old wine gone sour, my relationship with Clara had turned pungent, like vinegar.
Once a joyous symphony of laughter and holding hands, we now stood like colleagues discreetly judging each other’s breakfast cereal.
Tonight was the moment. My exit speech was so rehearsed, I could recite it backward.
Every syllable polished to minimize a nuclear meltdown. We were at O’Malley’s, our shamefully cute first date spot.
“Clara,” I began, sandpaper suddenly in my throat, “We need to talk.”
Her bright summer sky eyes were now ominously clouded.
She sighed, a sound that could deflate me more than any argument. “I know, Liam,” her voice heavy like rain. “I’ve been waiting.”
My carefully laid speech crashed and burned. “So… no objection?”
“Liam! I’m tired. Pretending we’re good. Your retro video game manias. The laser sounds every honest conversation!”
