He broke my heart on a warm and sunny day. I broke his heart on a cold and rainy day. With long distance marriages, you are never experiencing the same thing at the same time. Not even the weather.
That summer, I would sit on the streetcar, going nowhere at all, just wanting to be in motion and never still, listening to the same fifteen songs on repeat. It was there, amongst the anonymous population of Toronto and with the city gliding past me, that I felt calm. There was a space that enveloped me. In that space, I could finally think clearly.
I don’t figure things out through talking. If anything, the talk pushes me against a wall with a knife against my neck. I feel suffocated in words, in ideas, in hypothesis’ of why we didn’t work. Sweating, with the music, my legs crossed on a metal seat and looking out a dirty window, I could make my sense of what had gone wrong.
For three weeks, I only cried on the 501 streetcar, headed west.
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