There was that night where my feet stuck to the movie theater floor as you raced, sobbing to the back exit door.
The room was stark, but I couldn't fathom another thought other than the current situation-
which is that I had broken your heart.
We had disagreed, or rather there was an act of intentional greed over seat three and fours armrest.
It was more than an armrest, but rather a purity test to me.
I did not share    my space   with you, nor did I ever share my feelings, knitted sweaters, or meals eaten by one but cooked for two.
What was I to do?
Unstick what had already made a gelatinous film wrapped around your head deeming me as a 'lost cause' who was 'only good in bed'.
I was bad for you.
I think I still am too.
Because I was always the clam shell who hid her precious pearls...