She leaves things here.
Every time she leaves.
Just something.
A lip gloss.
A jacket.
A pair of sunglasses.
A packet of those cigarettes she can’t seem to live without.
And she’ll come back for it.
Two hours later, two days, two weeks.
She’ll come back.
She always comes back.
Like there’s some sort of security in her disorganisation.
Like she’s saying to me “I’ll come back.
“Look, see? I have to.
“It’s okay, you’ll never lose me.
“I love you too much to lose you.”
But then she doesn’t leave something.
And she’s gone.
And I don’t see her.
Not for three days, not for three weeks, not for three months.
And then everything’s different.
She’s a new person.
She’s not my girl anymore, the one I knew and loved.
“So what’s changed, baby girl?”
She looks at me and says
“So much.
“Where do I begin?
“How much you’ve missed, Ad.”
And I see it then.
How much I’ve left her alone for.
The laughter.
The tears.
The heartache.
All that I wasn’t there for.
Couldn’t share.
Couldn’t fix.
Couldn’t heal.
All because she didn’t leave something here.
Or there.
Or on the bed.
In my pocket.
In my bag.
And so she will, again.
Leave something here.
And I don’t move it.
Just stare at it.
Because then I know she’ll be back.
Again.
And again.
“Just to say ‘hi’ babe, I forgot my shoes.
“You know, the ones with the dots.
“Where’d you put them, the car’s running.”
And so I tell here.
“They’re where you left them.
In the study.
Next to the heater.
Just there, to the left.
I haven’t seen her for 2 months.
But then I did.
Now I’m sitting here.
Looking at that jacket.
I know she’ll be back.
She always is.
- Mood:
numb
- Music:Be Yourself - Audioslave
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adelaideviolent- adelaideviolent
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