Jennifer’s Things

So I took Jennifer’s stuff to the post office, all boxed up. Five boxes. Not much to show for four years. Her clothes, shoes, letters, cards, pictures – everything. Sent it all back to her.

The man at the post office said I should put it all in smaller boxes, it would be cheaper. But I didn’t care what it cost, I just wanted it gone. Even if she didn’t want it back. Like closure, you know?

Except there’s no such thing.

You wanna know how I know?

Because when I got home, with all her things gone, I thought the place would be different somehow. But it wasn’t. And I realised… sending all her stuff back wasn’t going to make any difference.

Because of everything she’d touched.

It’s like, when she left, there was a big Jennifer-shaped hole in my apartment. Because of everything she’d touched. Everything that reminded me of her.

The bath.

The wardrobe.

The bed.

I’m gonna have to move house.

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