The Ragtag Daily Prompt this morning: EMPTY ROOM
This room should be empty. It shouldn't be bulging with bits of you, the evidence of our life together, scattered on every flat surface. Your notebook your pens, your jottings on the calendar. It shouldn't still hold all the colours of us. That mahogany desk you wanted so bad; I remember your satisfied smile when the auctioneer shouted "Sold to number 68, there in the blue jacket." I remember how we had to abandon our old chest of drawers in the garage to fit your new purchase in its place. This empty room should be silent now; it shouldn't still ring with the sound of us, like this silly clock I was so fond of, even if it chirped all hours and never did keep proper time, not even after two pricey trips to the clock-maker. I can still hear your exasperated sighs as you swathed it in a blanket every night. This empty room will never be vacant; when together we chose that wallpaper and together we hung it, laughing all the while, not quite matching the patterns. "Gives the room character," you said. And I pretended to like that idea. It still rings with our long discussions the arguments, the admissions, the apologies. Bits of your little hobbies wave at me like little flags; the trinkets on your desk testify of your tastes, your skills, your plans. Even the Post-its you stuck on the mirror remind me how you lived – really lived – here, how you once filled every room. Now each thing in its way laments your absence and the emptiness of this room.