divided decades

[INTRO.] [Spoken:] We had twenty-two years. Not in a row. Not all at once. But mathematically, yes. [VERSE 1 – Detached but rhymed with surgical intent] (Em) You took the red Dutch oven and the years with no war. I kept the clawfoot tub and existential rapport. You left me the houseplants— four out of five died. You said you wanted space, so I gifted you “outside.” I got the tax records and all the cassette tapes. You kept the espresso machine and twelve types of grapes. We split the dog’s ashes—don’t ask how that went. You took my silence. I took the rent. [REFRAIN – Chorus echoes like judges] [CHORUS:] We divided the decades. You got the even years. The seasons with birthdays. The fights with the tears. I kept the odds— like a gambler, a priest— and every September where nothing increased. [VERSE 2 – Quicker, pettier, brilliant] You rewrote our history in Helvetica Light, Cut my best lines and declared you were right. You posted on forums. You quoted Simone. You found a new language. I turned off my phone. You left me the spiral-bound therapist’s notes, With arrows and margins and venomous quotes: “Uses sarcasm as strategy,” “Avoidant in tone.” You annotated us like Tolstoy— Then claimed it as your own. [CHORUS:] We divided the decades. You took the years with rain. I took the Aprils That felt like Spain. You kept the passports. I kept the songs. You wrote the closure. I hummed along. [BRIDGE – Spoken, then breaks into arioso] You said: “We were never right.” I said: “We were just not wrong enough.” [VERSE 3 – Melodic, almost tender, then undercut] There’s a kind of love you don’t walk away from— you just misplace like your mother’s Dutch lamp. There’s a kind of grief that doesn’t sob— it alphabetizes. It fills a drawer. It unsubscribes. [CHORUS – Full reprise, all voices in mock harmony] We divided the decades. You got the even years. The anniversaries. The minimal tears. I took the fragments.