The very edges of this plate almost replicate the jagged, unorganized patterns in my life itself.

A half filled glass of milk and a rather sloppy “breakfast” sandwich made up the dish, along with a cat, the name was unknown, sitting beneath the very feet of mine. I sipped nonchalantly on the glass of milk, my mind slowly slipping into the inner sadness of a modern home Sunday morning.

“I’m leaving.”
I barely swallowed the milk.
“You’ll be back.” I said, although I was quite unsure of the statement.
Nothing from the other direction. Complete silence filled the deep crevice of the air.
“I know how it goes.” I said aloud, taking in a fast breath to prepare for the words my demented mind was stringing together.
“You leave for a while. Then you come back. It always happens that way.” I second guessed my choice of saying.
“It’s different this time.” Jada sang aloud from the other room.
“Oh?”

She entered the kitchen where I was still sitting and made herself a cup of coffee and, without any conversing, took a sip of the cup. The coffee was fresh. Still hot. I could tell by her instinctive reaction, her lips pressed together making a sour face. Normally, the face would acquire laughter and dialogue between us. Now, it was just a passing moment in the Tuslick residence. She sat the cup down and made her way towards the same room that had been a trademark of our togetherness.

I finished my breakfast and, along with the nameless cat, made my way towards the main hallway of our house. Heading towards the restroom. I was tired of being in that damn kitchen, I thought. I needed solace. I had a mad idea. A force, rather, that compelled me to move my feet.

Normally, for comfort, I would find my way towards Jada. Me, a lost puppy. Jada, the master.

I began to feel my neck tighten and as she exited our room, the corner of my eye caught a fleeting glimpse of her passing.

My reflection angered me. Not only was the once deemed beauty of our relationship torn to smut, but, along with Jada, my once good looks were now out the front door; buried deep within the mud.

I decided to cut my eyes out. Literally. No, I am not insane. Not a madman. There’s just two things I didn’t want to catch with my sight: myself, and her.

Jada cried of hysteria when she entered the bathroom.

“James, have you lost your mind! Oh my god!”

My laugh was parallel to that of a psychopath, colorful blood flowing like tears down my face.

“Call me Shaving James, sweetie.”