This month’s Līgo asks us to work the word “Melt.” My 220-word offering is entitled “Gone, Gone, Gone…”
Her leaving tore me apart. My world split from the moment she said she’d had enough; nothing would be the same. I keep replaying it over:
Henry. She’d said it like it was the end; I heard it in her tone. I gotta go; we are too different. You have your work, your experiments, journals, samples, meetings, and nerdy—oh, sorry, yeah?—colleagues. I have my art and modeling, yeah?
I had told Frank over coffee right after she’d said it; actually, I confessed to him that she’d come just to the door of my study and said it, then quickly wheeled her luggage out, as if I wouldn’t notice it being dragged behind her like an obstinate child.
Old boy, Frank had said, over his stomach, upon which his usual afternoon tea rested, she’s gone. We told you that she wasn’t the one, didn’t we? And now look at you—you look just melted. There are some fine fish down in the typing pool. What did you see in that limp noodle of a girl anyway? Sure, she might have had a bit of a nice body, but where was her mind?
My mind—at least what was left of it, was on her.
Sorrow works its way
Like winter’s cold through my bones.
She is gone for good.