You trashed your broken journals and brown-kissed papers – incinerating the verses you wrote into the once rigid skin. You hid all your calligraphy pens and blue inks – never bidding a good farewell. You disposed into a suffocating case all your clothes – some were ripped from the hardness imposed by your hands. You tossed into the bin all your personalized sneakers – markers of our lucid soft trips. You broke the morning mug you always desired – no more coffee breaks for your lazy sun.
But you sent me a letter on how you would be out before the dawn breaks – you found your new apartment miles from mine.
You bought a branded tablet and a laptop to accompany you in your writing – a portable charger to keep you awake. You had a new set of style – short skirts, leather knee-length shoes, strappy heels, backless tight dresses – you could go commando without complaints. You elevated your features with several dark smokes around your eyes and thick colors for your lips. Your hair housed the colors of galaxies – I could not find which one was real.
You exhaled – prepared. You looked at me with nothing, but satisfaction. You left me with a smug smile before you opened my front door.
Hold on; you forgot your whiskey.
WORD COUNT: 212
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.