One morning. You wake up and it's gone. Like a bad dream, or a cold.
That's all it takes.
 
One morning.
 
But the change is gradual. You don't see it at first. Then come the doubts. They nag at you. And the more you try to ignore them, the more persistent they become.
Soon, you're left with an ugly, 800-pound gorilla sleeping comfortably in a corner of the room.
 
By the time the realization hits you, you're not even bothered anymore. I can't decide if I should find that cheerful or pathetic.
 
 
And so here I am, sitting in a silver Lexus, dodging cars like bullets on the highway.
My wife sits next to me, in the passenger seat, silent. The atmosphere feels crystalised.
I'm almost afraid that cutting through the thick air would break her.
 
Finally, she speaks up.
 
"How was your day?"
 
Lilly's voice shatters the quiet of the cockpit. I look at her. Streetlights reverberate on her milky white skin.
 
I've mostly been working odd jobs for the past two years. They helped me take my mind off the dull platitude which has become my daily life. But hitting knuckleheads in the face with a stick only gets you so far.
 
"Fine."
 
My response doesn't seem to faze her. Honestly, I don't see very well the point of having these conversations anymore. She knows I'll always reply the same. I don't even bother asking her about school.
 
God, I just wish there was something I could do about it.
 
If the car caught on fire right now, I couldn't even see her react.
 
_*
*_v*
 
At home, she cooks the evening's meal while I wash the bloodstains off my clothes. By nine, we've both hit the bottles. Her, because she thinks I don't care about her; me, to remind myself not to care anymore. By ten, we've drunk ourselves to a stupour, and by eleven, the house slumbers peacefully once again.
 
Killing an 800-pound gorilla is an ugly business. If you're not careful, it jumps at you, grabs you by the throat, and eviscerates you with a single strike. And even if you are, even once you've got it cornered, it fights for its life, kicking and tearing at everything in a desperate attempt to escape. And once you've finally put a bullet to its brain, and you're left to contemplate your bruised and battered body, you start wondering who did the most damage.
 
But even then I wouldn't go back. Even if I was given the chance, I couldn't cheat fate any more than I could cheat my own mind. For every time I tried to convince myself things were different, I found her looking at me with her pearly blue eyes, giving me the desperately empty stare I've grown accustomed to. And somehow, she always knew that something was wrong.
 
And she always found a way to tell me.
 
 
I stop at the door, and turn around to kiss her. Our embrace feels lifeless. She faces me, frozen in surprise for a moment. I want to apologize, but I'm afraid of opening up to her. I'm afraid of breaking down.
 
I don't recognize Lilly anymore. This skin I touch, these lips I kiss, these strands of hair I play with, nothing of it seems like her.
She's grown alien to me.
 
I wish I was drunk right now.