When I’m finished, I sit back on my heels and look up, as if to say, What now?
“So what will it be, I take the garbage bag to Goodwill, or my apartment?”
“I’m not sure what that means—‘my apartment’.”
“If you think the relationship will be brief, I’ll keep these and return them when it’s over.”
“No,” I shake my head quite vehemently. “This isn’t going to end. No.”
He smiles. “All right,” It’s the choice he was hoping for.
He takes off with no more interaction than that, while I stare at the walls of the room, the half-open drawers, and the closet standing half-empty as if someone moved out. In a sense that’s true.
I finally rise from the floor, deciding that I’m not going to inventory my losses. This is about what I’ve gained in love, in desire, in the true need that I denied so l
