I lay awake on the floor staring at a Care Bears trash can as the television fills the dark room with hues of blue.  They stand side by side, arms extended out towards each other’s backs or shoulders or whatever, with pudgy faced smiles and those stupid hearts or star streaks across their bellies.  The border is all fluffy clouds, and rainbows, and big yellow suns.
   

I reach over and ash my cigarette into it.

   

The fan is on high and She has all the blankets.

   

I’m freezing.

And there’s this pulling within the depths of my gut.  This emptiness that’s sucking in my intestines.  My organs.  My happiness.

I drag hard on the cigarette.

This was supposed to be a good day.  A good night.  That’s where the pressure started.  That’s when I should’ve known it wouldn’t be.  That I’d unconsciously find a way to screw it up.  It’s my specialty.

And here I find myself.  Curled into a ball on the floor as Blue Valentine plays on the box television set and She sits behind me, texting someone on her phone.

Who the hell is She texting?

What a horrible night.

And it doesn’t end there.  It seeps into my morning.  Even though I wake to find myself covered in the blanket I needed so badly.  Even though I wake to find a note where Her body used to be that tells me not to worry about anything.  That tells me She loves me.  That says thank you for everything.  

I still find a way to feel wretched.

Depraved.

Putrid.

So I get up and tidy the mound of blankets we slept on.  I arrange the remotes and throw out the used tea bag that laid on the carpet all night.  There’s a cigarette pack next to one of the pillows and I check it for just one more cigarette.  One more cloud of smoke to cover my life in.

But it’s empty.  

So I just leave.