An excerpt …
Some people sever a relationship and some people sever each other. A twisted short story about a break up that doesn’t go as planned.
It is raining; of course, it is always raining. The car is filled with empty coffee cups, cigarette butts, and boxes overflowing with the remains of our relationship. There are clothes, but I won’t keep these. There are movies, postcards, photographs, all dumped from shelves, drawers, and pulled from thumbtacks and nails that had held them onto the walls of our tiny apartment.
I’ve smoked so much in these two hours that I have been on the road that the cigarette seems to be an extension of my hand. The orange glow through the gray ash seems cold, despite the smoke rising from it and floating out of the barely cracked window. Occasionally, rain drops sneak in, despite the fact that the crack is infinitely small. I have always had some sort of weird need to let air in, even when I didn’t smoke, I keep the window cracked, no matter how cold or rainy the weather; otherwise, I feel suffocated, smothered.
I have the most important boxes in the front seat with me. The back seat is, of course, occupied. You always manage to get in the way, don’t you? The front seat boxes contain burnt c.d. s, mixed tapes, letters – always the letters.
It was no surprise that we communicated better with one another through the written word rather than face-to-face. After all, writing allowed time, space, room for deliberation, the opportunity to manipulate the language, a chance for correction. Face-to-face meant instant decision, no take-backs. Things stayed the way you said them. That was too real, too concrete for our relationship that was built on philosophy, sophistry, and perception…
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