The clock struck 8:27 to begin my 60th birthday celebration. My phone chimed with a text message from my sister that read, “ Congratulations, a woman only turns sixty once.” I set the phone onto the table. The chime  had disturbed me. I always enjoy silence after 8.  As part of the same routine, I meandered towards the kitchen to pour a cup of freshly brewed chamomile tea to accompany my prized possession—an old and tattered collection of classic poems. While cozying up to my favorite leather recliner with book and drink in hand, I became frightened by the effects of a small fissure in the mirror in front of me. My image was distorted, askew, and bleary. The clock struck 8:45 and my neighbors,Connor and Sharon, commenced their daily argument. For some ineffable reason, I had never minded the noise that Connor and Sharon made. I immediately jettisoned my tea into the sink and the poetry onto the table. I scurried to press my ear on the razor-thin wall separating the apartments. I heard a clap and a boom—a cling and a tang—a scream and a bang. I knew well of these sounds from my ex-husband Humphrey. These sounds were fathered by betrayal,the ultimate betrayal: the ceasing of love. Humphrey made all sorts of clings, rings, bangs, and tangs...until he was gone. Perhaps the heart is the true, old and tattered vessel of poems. Both vessels share their steady beat and tunes of love and sadness, but when the heart’s tune ends, it never starts again. Alas,my tune ended long ago. It is nothing, however my lamentations have long passed. Another familiar sound radiated from the walls: tears. The same tears that fell for Humphrey when he left me once and for all. All the same, it is difficult to distinguish between the tears shed for joy and for despair. Oh Sharon, I am sympathetic for the sadness that will gnaw at you every day. The fissures in your mirrors will never fade. Nevertheless,like all things, love was doomed an end from its start. Oh Connor, please don’t go and break my— I mean Sharon’s heart. Oh gosh!  In my introspection, I forgot about the couple and the last familiar sound or lack of, actually. Silence—the sound Humphrey left for me when I last saw him. Finally, the prolonged silence was shattered by the sound of a door being slammed. I sped as fast as my feeble body could to ask him, “Oh Connor ,my dear, are you leaving Sharon once and for all?” He declared adamantly and sternly, “O’ widow Humphrey, please tell Sharon that I’m gone.” He stormed down the stairs, and after all was said and done— I enjoyed my silence after 8.