departure..

I am about to give him the password to my email account. I was hoping he could print something for me when he went to the internet café

I would be too tempted to look at your emails.


But there is nothing I’m scared of you seeing.

I’d rather not have it…I’m the type who if I found a diary…would look through it. But at least I’m honest to myself about that.

I understand. But I’m not that type.
As much as I am weak at any hint of temptation, I draw the line when another is involved.

I mostly don’t do what I shouldn’t …mostly

That morning was much more difficult by his presence in the bed. I was finding it almost impossible to slip myself away from him in that moment. The minutes ticked over and passed, drawing perilously close to when I should have already left.

Finally I forced myself up.
Pulling on a purple vest that lay on the floor, I asked if I could turn the light on. He sleepily murmured

yes.

All of my movements are misdirected, overwhelmed by clumsiness. Bleary eyed , my limbs too long, stumbling in his room. I am the bull in the china shop... I thought.

But at least I am dressed now, have everything packed now, just need to get my phone from the wall. I go to unplug it, but misjudge the space in the back corner of his room, turning only to narrowly miss knocking a stack of papers on the window ledge. But even half asleep I have cat like reflexes , so catch the pile just before the first layers slip to the floor.


As I shift the papers back into their disordered order, the corner of an image is poking out. I can’t make out what it is, and I don’t know what makes me do it, I think it must be a postcard, and I instinctively think its best to leave it alone.


But I pull it out ever so slightly anyway and I see it’s a photograph of him. This is the first photo I’ve ever seen, that looks exactly like him, s I know him now. It could have been taken last week, it could have been taken yesterday.
I think he looks beautiful.


But then he is not alone in the picture. There is a girl, I’m not able to look at her for long. I couldn’t’ really tell you what she looked like. Fair skin, dark hair. Maybe she had wavey hair or curls? I can’t tell you what her facial expression was. I didn’t look long enough, but I instantly knew who she was. I know it is the girl from before. And I feel guilty for seeing it, and awkward for seeing it. I gently push the photo back into its place in the pile.


And then I feel… I don’t know exactly how I feel. I feel strange and confused and…jealous? No…not jealous. This is a feeling I have no word for, all I know is it isn’t pleasant. Why…why am I effected this way? By a relic from a life before me? When him and I are always telling *war stories* , when I’ve even played with the idea of showing pictures to each other of all we’ve been involved with before?


But I shouldn’t still be here now. What would he say if he woke up and saw me there. Just standing there. Twenty minutes longer here than I’m meant to be. All dressed and standing staring out his window, into the empty hof. If I don’t go now I could miss my flight. I look back at him, curled up in bed peacefully. I look back out of his window and floating through my head is this one sentence

*they were happy then*

And all I can think about is ending. Their ending. The ending of the life he lived with her before I was known. And he is always quick to point out the mortality of things. And I know he’s right, that nothing lasts forever and…I don’t have time to think about all this now. What good is it? I have to leave. I go to him. I kiss his mouth and then again kiss him gently on his cheek. I whisper in his ear that I love him. Outside the air is brisk and it is beginning to get light. I close his door gently behind me. Its time to leave. It's time to leave...