MWBB week 45


The fog lay lightly on the ground as if it knew it wouldn’t last the morning. It had rolled in from the ocean overnight, but it would be sunny and clear by nine, nine-thirty at the latest. I’d hoped it would stay around longer – it’s so much easier to leave when you can’t see what’s behind you. I’d been packing for weeks, sneaking a sweater out of a drawer or a book out of the stack on your nightstand. I could stay, you’d say if I asked, a half-grin, half-desperate plea for a miracle on your face, pretending that your heart wasn’t breaking, but I wouldn’t ask. I didn’t love you, but I didn’t hate you that much.

You were almost feral in bed last night, pathetically transparent in your attempt to convince me with your body that leaving you would be a mistake. But you only convinced me even more to go. I’d had better.

I finished my coffee and left the mug in the sink, unrinsed. You were out of your favorite Kona blend – now you were, anyway – and I left the container in the Keurig to remind you that you needed more. The sun was starting to burn its way through the fog, and I knew that you’d wake up soon, a bit sore and sticky, and more than a bit hungover. Once upon a time, I’d have stayed and tried to ease the transition – let you cry and scream and curse me forever – but there was really no point. I had to go, and those scenes are just depressing.

Looking around one last time, I realized that I hadn’t pulled my DVD’s out of the rack. I pondered grabbing a few, but it really was time to upgrade them to blu-rays, so I left them for you. I wasn’t sure you’d ever watch them, but they had cost me quite a bit of money, so I lifted the  gold frames your grandmother left you off the wall and slipped them in my backpack.

I heard a rustle from the bedroom, and a moan, and my heart skipped a beat. It was time to go before you woke up fully. You’d be fine, I thought. Or you wouldn’t. But I had places to go.


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