Tuesday, 3 July 2012

An empty message


The remaining hangers clattered together as I tugged my jacket free, their empty bones rattling out a final farewell. The whole cupboard was like a carcass with the thin, white pole a spine. I had finally picked it clean. She must have removed her clothes at some point earlier as if she couldn't stand them to become further tainted by mine, like I would cling to her forever as hidden fibres. That actually sounded about right.

I slid the swollen suitcase onto the floor and sat on the bed so I could press it down under my Converse and wrench the zip around. I didn't even want any of this stuff, I'd have taken it the last time if I had. I was just tired of arguing; she said she wanted it out so out it was going to go. The zip broke, not the teeth but the handle on the zipper came off, so I tied it... with a tie.

I pottered around the room, a room she'd returned to later but I (I had been told) would never see again. My pictures hadn't been replaced, they were just gone; far more damning. I toyed with some of her things, feeling their weight and wishing for some memory to spark like it would in a movie; a couple staring into a shop window from a sunny street, a slender hand pulling a ribbon from a box, clothes dropping onto a wooden floor around red high heels and the camera tracking away to follow whatever had been knocked to roll across the planks. Nothing came though. I pocketed a lipstick.

I found a pen and paper and an envelope and I settled at the little desk beside the bed.


“You left me a letter”

“Yeah”

“It was blank”

“It was written from the heart”

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