9 days after

So here I sit, over a week after the termination of the allround, by-far best relationship I have ever had. We met last night, at her place, for me to pick up what few things i had left behind. It amounted to a book, one DVD, a toothbrush (used), and a t-shirt she had ordered me, as well as a Snoop Dogg CD, again something from her for me. I parked in a spot down the way, not where i had for months, under the awning, next to her white car. There was simply not enough room for a smooth insertion, and it seemed symbolic.
She opened the door in her work clothes, unusual for six pm on a Tuesday, her house smelling like a light dinner, the early evening sun making her soft, tan skin glow. The plastic shopping bag containing my things goes into the bag, with room to spare. We nervously glance off to the side, commenting aloud about the awkwardness of the situation, and she comments about how she wishes she had broken it off in person, instead of over the phone, still at work.
She asks me how I am, I reply honestly that I'm OK, if sad and confused can be seen as OK.
We hug.
I place one arm around her, not in any way expecting the embrace, but after the second try we hug full on, tears streaming down her face, tugging at the corners of my eyes.
"I can't get mad at you", I say, not letting myself fall for the urge to do so, or to read into the hug, or to ask her why.
"It would be easier for me if you did", she replies.
"I'm just trying to remember the happy times,” I say, whereon she responds, “I can’t stop thinking about the happy times.”

Our tryst had lasted five months, or thereabouts.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to cry,” she says through tears.

“Take care of yourself. I guess … I’ll see you later,” escape my mouth, as she reaches for the door, and I see myself out.

That was last night, and the sense of closure is extremely relieving. Not saying goodbye face-to-face is possibly the worst.

Ioanni Elymucampus fecit.