A broken plate lies between us. I say, “It’s not my fault.”
You say, “You should have put it away earlier.”
I look at the shattered off-white ceramic pieces and say, “It’s not my fault.”
You purse your lips and say, “You didn’t put it away; you should have done it days ago.”
My chest swells in furiously shameful indignation and I say, “ It was bound to break eventually. There was already a crack on the plate.”
You shake your head and say, “You could have put it away yesterday.”
I say, “Stop saying it’s my fault.”
You say, “It’s frustrating cause you could have put it away.”
I say, “Stop saying it’s my fault. It’s not my fault.”
You look at the dead ceramic. You say, “It’s just…you could have put it away.”