Baby, please don't sell the flat when I am gone!
***
The door seals shut. I hear him walking down the street. Ruinous- is there such a word? Ruinous is how I feel.
To friends who ask, the answer is, no. Goodbyes don't get easier, no matter how often I practise.
All night I wonder, what was it he did or did not do, that made me so upset? Obviously whatever it was or was not, is of no significance as I can't remember. Then I wonder, why did I even bother sweating the small stuff when Life gives us such little time together?
He's left a white shirt, his jacket, his toothbrush. He did that because I need to see traces of him- he was here, he'll be here, soon, soon.
The thing with feeling so deeply is at some point, quite quickly, one then feels, nothingness. I awake this morning in this state, grateful, that after eight months of uncertainty, we now have a clearer direction as to where and how to lay, roots.
I did promise to not sell the flat, but he didn't say anything about not going on a hunt!
In my imagination, I think of taking on a Grade 2-listed cottage by its crumbling horns!
In reality, I take the bus, cross the Thames, press on with my 3-act ballet.
For he's going to need to sit on something to put his shoes on in the hallway.
***
Act 3, Scene1, Choreographer's Notes:
1. Shabby chic needs fabric to break monotony.
(Go get cushion tomorrow.)
2. Large Identical Mirrors lift dismal bathrooms, adding unexpected stature.
(Add plants and candles sometime this week.)
3. When space is too tight, don't be afraid to remove doors.
(Remember to call curtain contact.)
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