I stand by the sink, brush in one hand, her coffee cup in the other. The same cup she drank from 10 minutes ago, the same cup I bought for her in Paris, 4 years ago.

The same cup she had in her hand when she told me about him. She met him at the seminar, she had a drink with him afterwards. She went with him to the summer house.

To the summer house, not with the girls like she told me, but with him. To the summer house we once went to, 4 years ago.

4 years ago we were in love.
3 years ago we were happy.
2 years ago we were satisfied.
1 year ago we were tired.
Now we are nothing.
2+1=0.

She left me with the goddamn washing up.

I wash up with my tears.