I am sitting in my bedroom alone biting my nails, chipping away at the memory of you. A part of me falls to the floor, and just like that I am less. Less of a woman, less of a person. I wonder if this makes you happy, seeing me disintegrate before your eyes. I pick the clipping off the floor, put it in my mouth, and swallow. It stings going down, but I suppress the pain, just like I have done so many times before. In the bathroom, I file my nails until they are as smooth as the bay on a windless day. Trying to smooth the bumps that you created. Trying.