Love letter # 596

I went through the things recently, the assorted goods and chattel of living, and I threw most of it out. Dusty leftovers of erstwhile passions, the surplus machines of modern domesticity, the souvenir trinkets of memories already smudged. Then, when I surveyed the surviving pile, I knew without counting that it was you.

Here, these things you touched before you stopped touching me. This pot you made soup in. The ring you once placed on my finger. Your scarf, which I still wear, twirling loose threads.

How telling it is that I still travel with your tailings, like a luggage of trophies. Anchors disguised as less weighty objects. The small, private detail of a once consuming drama. Old props, repeated routines. The show distilled to unspectacular gesture. As if we had rehearsed for this now unconscious separation.

If I feel lighter by the day, it is because I carry you with me.





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