‘Never let the sun set on an argument.’
That’s what you said, yet you never could take your own advice. We hadn’t spoken for an hour, well, no more than a ‘pass the salt please’ and a ‘tea?’, though no eye contact was made, no little smile shared.
You went up to bed without a word, leaving me to watch some late night science documentary I’d seen before and hadn’t really been interested in the first time round. I listened to your footfalls on the stairs, the creak of boards a you crossed the landing, the cistern filling after the flush.
Eventually you were quiet and I churned the argument over in my head, beginning at irritated indignation, slowly feeling the stupidity of it, that two people who love each other so much could let such a ridiculous thing spoil an evening.
I crept to bed at midnight, slipped in beside you, wanting to hold you but preferring to sleep in isolation than risk you shrugging me off.
It was only in the morning, as sleep clogged my lashes, as I swallowed the bitter taste on my tongue that I realised you were cold.
That you were still in the same position as you were when I went to bed.
That you slipped away in the middle of an argument. No kind word. No last kiss.