We mostly talked about the weather. All other subjects seemed off-limits, somehow. Strange, when we’d been so intimate. I guess that’s what a broken heart does to you. So much to say but no way of saying it.
So we sat and discussed the grey stormclouds gathering above us, like perfect strangers. I zoned out after a few minutes, watching his mouth move; that mouth that had once whispered sweet nothings to me. And suddenly I realised that he wasn’t talking about the weather at all.
(Originally published elsewhere in March 2007)