catching the 5 a.m. bus


He slowly loses mass while I sleep, the cells of his body evaporating into morning. By the time I wake, he is gone, as well are his things. Defined by absence, no note is left, nothing to say he was here, only a small clear space is left behind on the floor from his suitcase. He drifts away like a ghost, particles shedding into the air with every breath as I dream, his kisses vanishing with him. Sitting in the bed, I find a few stray hairs on the pillow and twist them around a finger, wedding ring proof he’s not imaginary, but still I do not believe.

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