I smoke and watch her pack.

The taxi waits.

Then like a premonition

I have a mirrored memory

of her departure

- the scent of her washed skin-

recalling the ins and outs

of our arguments...

She's smiling as she leaves

the echo of our space.

She's laughing as we fail

to finish yet

another argument...

I pick through the remains

of the accusations

that she broadcasts.

Then leaving

sighing she drags behind her

-like wheeled luggage-

the life that we once shared.

 

words and foto T Carroll