Heavy.
Foreign.
I haven’t put them on yet.
I can’t.
Not when they feel less like a beginning and more like a severing.
Not when he left without ever turning around.
You didn’t even say goodbye.
I whisper it into the empty room, voice shaking.
And then I freeze because that isn’t fair, is it?
Hedidsay goodbye.
Just not the kind with hope attached.
Not the kind meant to be undone.
Not the kind that leaves room for a future.
He said the kind that ends things.
Cleanly.
Quietly.
Cruelly.
He said the kind of goodbye you feel like a blade between the ribs.
I press my fingers against the centre of my chest.
Right where his head rested that night.
Right where I felt him breathe against me.
Right where he fell apart.
And now he’s gone.
And I’m next.
I pick up the tags.
Thread the chain through trembling fingers.
Lift it over my head.
Let the metal settle against my skin.
This is it.
No syrup.
