It was a box-one that had carried something, but had been cut down to fit something else. She left it on my front seat, as she had promised, saying on the phone that she couldn't stand to see me again. Which was fair.
I looked at the box- books I had wanted her to read, music I had wanted her to hear. I had not just loved her, I had wanted to possess her. It was too much for her-too much for me-too much for anyone.
Did I even keep a picture of her? No, I did not, I thought.
Probably just as well he kept no photo. Maybe there's a chance to move past it.
ReplyDeleteNicely done.
Too possessive - and he knows it. Very tense - very lucid - very well told in just 100 words.
ReplyDelete