You Look Happy

“You look happy.” It wasn’t a compliment, nor was it truly an observation. It did not fall from his tongue with ease, it clung to his very being like a toxin that could not be purged. It was an accusation, a statement that settled itself between the two of us and silently solidified the notion of our separation. Because I was happy. I was so happy it threatened to consume us both, proving with no uncertainty that it was finished. The nail beaten so crudely into the coffin that even his deft hands could not pry their way inside. The all encompassing grasp of his self actualized sadness no longer touched the depths of me. I had reduced him from a prophet to a beggar, and in the end, I was happy.