The irony of their whereabouts began to strike him. This was the same kitchen he told her he loved her all those many months ago. But it was also the same kitchen where he immediately realized that he didn’t mean it.
“What are we doing?” She asked with complete exasperation. “Do you love me or not.”
He knew the answer. He always knew the answer. There was always something deep within that he loved about her, but he just wasn’t sure he was actually in love with her.
“We’ve been up and down this road forever,” she started again. “I don’t want to give up on us but I don’t want to keep going through this every few months either.”
He stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room. He always liked how she decorated. The rocking chair in the corner with the afghan flung over it. The light in the front window. The angle of the chair facing the TV. Everything about her reminded him of what love should be, what love is. But why did he struggle with it so?
“When I think about us I think about you and me forever,” she began. “I think of us walking the beach. I think of us drinking wine in the afternoon. Raising a family and growing old together. What do you think about?”