We talked. Spoke very few words.  It’d been awhile. Years. She looked different. Not the same as when we were married. She’d lost weight. Her breasts were smaller. Hips, thin. Neck looked strained. And her lips were not normal size. Overtaken by Botox. She smiled. I smiled. Her eyes were still blue.

I was not the picture of health. Overweight, dark circles under eyes. Hair tangled and long. I stopped caring. Maybe that’s what happened to us; stopped caring.

It was on a park bench in Chelsea where we sat. She was on her lunch break. I was permanently broken. Her eyes danced. She could not look at me. She saw through me. Always looking for the better option.

There was small talk. Senseless chatter. How have you been? was asked by both of us. Did we mean it? I don’t know. Seemed hollow. I threw bread at the birds. She pointed to a sign, DON’T FEED THE PIGEONS. We laughed. Always correcting me.

She placed her hand on my knee. I gotta go now, she said. It was good to see you. I nodded. There was no awkward embrace. Just two people saying goodbye.

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