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We don’t need the couch. It was never very comfortable to begin with.
But the bed – so many nights, love-filled nights, have been spent in this bed. Already, my back aches to lay down on it.
What about our clothes – old and dirty, new and unused, all those accessories of Shannon’s?
The cookware stays. Pack it away for another day. Good cookware should be passed down through generations.
My suits. One should never have to buy the same suit twice, unless age and waistline demand otherwise.
And what about these mementos, slips of paper with dates and names? The ones that whisper, “you’ll miss me later”?
You’re not sure if they lie or speak the truth.
Is there a box for these things, a place in the heart?
The jacket shoulder –
A moth escapes