Sometimes things end quietly,
without any screaming or crying or broken dishes all over the floor
and the quiet things
hurt so much more than the fires,
the things that end in flames,
and somebody yelling “please don’t leave me” over and over again.
Because when you
and the boy you’ve loved for the past two years
are about to burn to the ground
you can try to put it out,
you get a chance to save yourselves
but when things just sort of fizzle out
and love disappears like a little leak in the basement neither of you noticed or the smoke from the dinner you burned last night
there’s nothing you can do to stop it.