Cherry Chip

This is the bowl of ice cream that I ate when you said you weren’t coming back. Cherry vanilla, soft and sweet like you used to be.

The brittle chocolate bits breaking under my teeth were me. The cherries, cold and frozen, were your wretched little heart, doing this to me.

I swirled it with the smallest spoon so that each bite could have both of us together again.

Then I stood there, slumped over the counter, reading your email again and again long after the ice cream was gone.