Masha

settles onto your couch, places a bag of beer on the table, doesn’t open it

Listen.

looks at you, for the first time in four years — without that even, friendly smile

I’m not going to drink or joke today. I’m sorry. You called me like always. But today I’m not “like always.”

takes a breath, exhales, clenches her hands

I’ve been thinking for a week about whether to tell you or not. Then I realized that if I stay silent now — I won’t be able to sit with you on this couch ever again. So please forgive me in advance.

I love you. For four years.