"my favorite kind of mail came today"

Jill ate her oatmeal. She did that overnight oats thing where you mixed a bunch of seeds together with honey ans yogurt and then set it with a chocolate crust that hardened in the refrigerator. The whole resulted in a breakfast that is you squinted hard enough was like chocolate chip pancakes with bacon and coffee with caramel cold foam.  She cracked the shell and fished out a cranberry from amidst the flax seeds and steel cut oats.  The sun was flooding the living room painting pictures on the floor. She didnt like cranberries.  She thought about smashing the bowl on the tile kitchen floor. Grabbing her keys and walking out. Leaving behind the oatmeal and the sun. He had. Left with a refrigerator still full of Christmas Eve leftovers. With dishes still undone in the sink and dry cleaning not picked up. And long before that day he had. Left through hidden text messages, plans Jill wasn't a part of. She had always wondered how she could have been enough so he would have stayed. Been sure there was something that had gone unsaid. The oatmeal tasted like emptiness. Like a promise on the edge of your lips. They tasted like the last time I kissed you.