Singing in the shower

I came home smiling on Tuesday after our Earthquake session.

I was surprised I was happy.

I was almost myself that day. Almost. Save for that bad limp I have.

I could laugh at you. I could laugh with you.

I could finally look at you in the eye and not have tears threatening to drown us both.

I asked if I could have a go on the swing. I had been avoiding it for months.

So many things I wanted to tell you, so many things. And they had nothing to do with wanting you back.

Because you see, I sang in the shower when I came home that night.

I picked up all the stuff you gave me over the year. Little things. Put them away in a box.

I flipped through the camera manual that you returned to me. My camera manual, not ours, just because we used the same model. Mine.

I deleted the SMS you sent me that afternoon, something about you calling me later. Can't remember.

And then it struck me.

I knew I was over you.