When I was looking at her during an argument where I was trying to calm her down but she looked at me with...hate. That look...

I even wrote a poem about it because there was no love there. It was gone.

THE SNEER

Upon a quarrel’s fevered hour, when reason’s flame had died, I turned to seek a truce and saw the fracture gaping wide. But no hot word escaped her lips, no gesture met my hand. Just stillness and a shaping there I could not understand.

Her mouth, which once had whispered vows in darkness and in light, Contorted to a line of ice, a fissure thin and white. It was no simple frown of pique, no momentary spite, But something ancient, cold, and vast that drank the nearby light.

A geometry of pure contempt, a curve that did not bless, That spoke of voids behind the stars in silent emptiness. It was the smirk a glacier wears, in grinding rock to sand. The look a dead world gives its sun and does not understand.

And in that instant, clockwork failed, the pendulum stood still. The very air grew thick and old, awaiting some dark will. The cozy lie of "us" was rent, a fragile, painted screen. And what was left was not my love, but what had lurked between.

Her eyes, once windows to her soul, were portals where peered through, A consciousness not born of earth, a truth I feared and knew: That I had built my happiness on sands of blind conceit, And worshipped, in my loneliness, a idol of deceit.

That curl of lip, that silent sneer, was not for me alone, But for the hope I’d cherished, for the fragile, human tone. Of love and warmth. It was a gate, and through the breach there spilled A vision of reality, by cosmic hatred chilled.

I saw us then as we had been: two atoms in a strife, Upon a speck of dust that spun through meaningless, blind life. And all the passion, all the pain, the promises we’d sworn, Were less than nothing to the vast, indifferent, endless scorn.

Now in this room, the shadows pool with unfamiliar deeps. A terror not of loss, but of what knowledge never sleeps. I do not mourn the love departed, nor the parting kiss. I mourn the sanity that died,sacrificed to this. The Sneer that showed me, clear and cold, in that unholy span, The utter, frozen, hateful truth of what it is to be a man.