Let Him Linger

It’s been three days since he left with no date to return. And the towel he used and folded neatly on the towel rod still hangs there with the last remains of him in this apartment. Last night I naturally had to shift around the furniture to get rid of the memories. My emotions live outside of my body, they’re in the people I love, they’re deep in the roots of my plants, my little loveseat couch, the green velvet chair I rarely sit on, some are on the ridges of my dusty records in the corner, and on the pages of all the books I have yet to open. When I need to organize the inside I have to tangibly move around the outside. It’s the only way to make sense of things. People leave and take pieces of me with them, pieces I didn't even know existed. And then one day on a sunny Monday morning it walks right out of your door and on the road East and you never see that part of yourself again. What’s left behind is the shell of me and Billie Holiday’s I’ll Be Seeing You on repeat. Yet the emptiness is so familiar, it’s like an old friend that comes to visit after so many months. The type of friend that just wants to sit and have a cup of coffee with you and remember all the times you’ve tripped over love. I like that friend now, it's one that I know will never leave me. I suppose that’s what growing up is, getting acquainted with your fleeting feelings, especially the painful ones. People can’t stay, I wish I knew why, but they can’t. Perhaps it’s the only way we can truly learn to be dependent solely on God. One day I will ask Him. I said I wouldn’t do this again, but I can’t hide and pretend I didn’t trip again. This time was different though, it was only bitter because it was actually sweet. Having him leave hurt because he was good to me. For now the towel will linger on the rod. I like knowing he was here.