The Thriftette

It leaves me in the dark.

A stressful place where keys are returned, in a gesture much like receiving them: careless, yet heavy.

Where he says nothing but ‘thank you’ in a voice that is too soft after all the harshness that has passed between us, like it is going to be followed by a reconciliatory yet final 'goodbye'. Like he is relieved I have made it so easy for him. I don't stick around to hear it nor do I look at his face, which could reveal so many a thing. I am scared of things that are about to be said and witnessed.

Instead I duck out the door, muttering ‘I don’t know what to say’ in a breathless manner that suggests tears welling in the enclosed spaces of my eyes and as I stagger across the yard I hear the door lock. My breath, that I feel like I have been holding in all day, comes out in a billow of white matter and sounds like desperation. 

I do not know where this leaves us. Boundless, separate. Keyless. In the dark.