Saturday, July 11, 2009

the end of it.

The end of it was very sad even though the course had been run and there was nothing left in it. Neither of them had anticipated this level of melancholy, although she had suspected it might make her sad for a few days and had bought a block of chocolate and a packet of fancy tea to get her through the worst

He moped, opened the refrigerator door, closed it. He opened packets of things and then realised this was not what he had wanted but ate them anyway. They would both gain the weight of sadness. Still. It was over. There would be no repair.

She found a hand towel with the scent of him still on it and thought briefly that she might keep it. A momento of something that was once nice. She threw it into the wash with the sheets and the socks and her underthings. When she took the towel off the line there was nothing left of him. It was the end then.

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