violator tender_square they had an agreement and she violated it. he would not leave their bedroom before 8:20 in the morning, and she would not enter until he emerged. this was their accord: respecting the sanctity of morning rituals. the shift in time, the seasonal rewind, created an antsy-ness in her to arrive at the office, an unfounded fear of already being late. she was already dressed in her slacks, her blouse, her blazer, eager to use her vanity. she scooped her pile of pajamas into her arms like a sleeping child. he had been coughing beyond, rustling in awakeness. the clock read 8:18. she nudged the door with her elbow and gave a cautious greeting, elongating vowels. at first, he didn’t notice. then, he glowered at her from behind his laptop screen in the dark. “i figured it was alright because you would be out in a couple of minutes,” she reasoned. “no, it wasn’t.” he tossed his headphones aside on the comforter and he bolted from bed, briskly striding to the chair that contained his clothes. “i don’t go out there before it’s time. but you just decided that you wanted to and came in.” he removed his shorts with a flourish, and jangled his jeans as he dressed each leg. “sorry?” she said, unapologetically. “the clock literally said 8:19 when i came in.” what was the big deal? he stormed into the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. now, she thought, she was going to be the reason for his miserable day. she rolled her eyes at her reflection as she patted foundation into her face. was she the asshole? it’s not like she came in way earlier; why was he being so dramatic about it? she had to get to work, after all. he, meanwhile, would sit at home most of the day until her shift was over. but if she only had two minutes had left, why did she push it? why couldn’t she just have waited? mornings unfolded the same way, ad infinitum. he slow shuffled toward her arms and they held one another in the hallway. she would kiss his neck and cheeks and run her fingers across his back. he would stand there absorbing all the love that she had, the love she still gave him that he didn’t deserve. maybe she couldn’t bring herself to perform the service. maybe she just couldn’t love him the way she used to anymore. after his breakfast, when he returned to the bedroom to surf while she primped, she brokered a peace offering. his cool demeanor melted into a sticky syrup and immediately she hated herself for backing down. 221107 what's it to you? who go blather from