Tears

They cried themselves to sleep, one night, mid-October, leaving swirling in tornado spirals at every entrance to the house. They had been young and they had looked love in the face and promised to make things work. No matter what, they said. Now they were two bottles deep in whiskey and loneliness, a phone shattered on the floor and a dent in the wall above it.

They thought they had been smart, promising monogamy or loyalty or love, something of the sort, but they forgot that such rivers run two ways. Tomorrow they would scream, but today they just cried.