She says he is twice as tall as me, and I am depriving her
of lofty sights. Her desired vistas can
not be viewed at my five foot nine, sub-scenic stature. My dad is six foot
four. My mom was right; wearing underwear to bed stunts your growth.
My feelings aren’t hurt, the open-space she left is good for
me.
I love white walls uncluttered by art. Nothing for my eyes to get hung up
on, and nothing to carry my thoughts away.
Now, thoughts are left to loiter like her boxes that line
the hallway, they hang around like teenagers in a 7-11 parking lot
waiting to ask an adult to buy them liquor.
This departure of my better half is liberation. I get to be
whole again.
When God closes one door, He opens another. I am now
anchored, that other door left ajar by God led masked marauders into my room to
tie me to the bedpost. She already took the good stuff, the thieves took most of the
rest.
I sit tethered to her remaining boxes, my thoughts, and
stained, mismatched Tupperware. Now all my leftovers taste a bit like her
marinara.
