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u at home? ill be home soon

my sphincter stung as the taxi disappeared around the corner. what passed was somewhat of a cliched moment. you getting into the cab hurriedly, time slowing down (or was it speeding up?) as i grappled for words or actions that seemed half appropriate, finally settling for a furrow-browed goodbye.

i might have been more prepared except i was on the toilet during the time the taxi arrived and you carted your bags down the steps one by one. i wasn't hiding; it's well documented that i have digestive problems. you called my name for me to help with the final large bag and i nearly tripped down the steps as the neighbouring bosal workers looked on passively.

i came inside and took three pictures of myself; maybe they could tell me something later. i then spent the next 10 minutes photographing the spaces that had changed, or would change. a brimming ashtray on the window sill. an odd number of toothbrushes. a drastically drained shoe cupboard. two dirty wine glasses and a half empty bottle of gin. the last mundane text message.

still, the apartment didn't look as empty as it did last time. was it 4 months ago? that was probably the shock, of coming home to it. this i had seen coming, this i had seen unfolding. this, i had perhaps in part desired. yet like most men i had been filing and restricting access to my emotions, and so the night before when i unlocked a drawer with the words 'i'm going to miss you so much' i found tears in there and a pain pulsed deep inside my brain. i am, going to miss you, so much.

Comments

dear jackson,
stop making me cry.
this isnt the first time.
please...
love, richard.

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