No Goodbye
You Were Only Holding Me Back
I stare down at the drawing in my lap, adding the finishing touches as I spared a quick glance at my sleeping subject. I’ve captured his sleeping form perfectly. The roundness of his nose that clashes horribly with his structured cheeks and his perfectly sculpted brow. With one final line I finish. I switch out my charcoal for a pen and sign my name in the lower right-hand corner.
I quietly pack away my things; making sure to make as little noise as possible. I don’t want him to wake before I’m done. I roll up my supply bag and tuck it under my arm as I climb to my feet. Casting one long and lasting glance at his form, I sigh and turn towards the bedroom door. I reach down and pick up my duffle bag and place my supply bag on top.
I left my sketch on the arm chair; he can’t miss it. I head out into our living room and walk towards the computer. I set my duffle on the chair and reach for a pen and one of the many post-it notes he has cluttering up the small corner desk. I write the one thing I haven’t been able to tell him for the past two and a half months—my secret. As I place the small piece of paper on the keyboard, everything I’ve been feeling, everything’s that been weighing me down, it’s all gone.
-x-
I roll onto my back, stretching my arms above my head and curling my toes; my pitiful attempt to wake up. I open my eyes, stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds before I glance to my right—it’s 8:45. I turn to my left and realize that something’s missing—or rather someone. I sit up, rub a hand through my hair and glance around the room. Something seems off but I can’t place it.
I glance at the arm chair that’s usually occupied by a warm body. Only now, it’s occupied by a piece of paper. I shove my covers off and shift to the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my face before I stand. I take the few steps to the chair and stop on awe. It’s me, in complete detail; he’s always done an amazing job at making me seem beautiful.
It takes me a few minutes to realize that it’s quiet, too quiet. There’s no cursing from something burning on the stove, or the overwhelming scent of coffee—there was nothing. I rushed out of the room and into the kitchenette, glancing out into the living room. I noticed a small flash of white in my haste to glance around the room; there was something on the keyboard. I ran over, stumbling over my own feet, nearly tripping over the corner of the coffee table. I picked up the small post-it note and read those few words; as soon as I was finished I fell to my knees on the floor. He was gone.
I quietly pack away my things; making sure to make as little noise as possible. I don’t want him to wake before I’m done. I roll up my supply bag and tuck it under my arm as I climb to my feet. Casting one long and lasting glance at his form, I sigh and turn towards the bedroom door. I reach down and pick up my duffle bag and place my supply bag on top.
I left my sketch on the arm chair; he can’t miss it. I head out into our living room and walk towards the computer. I set my duffle on the chair and reach for a pen and one of the many post-it notes he has cluttering up the small corner desk. I write the one thing I haven’t been able to tell him for the past two and a half months—my secret. As I place the small piece of paper on the keyboard, everything I’ve been feeling, everything’s that been weighing me down, it’s all gone.
-x-
I roll onto my back, stretching my arms above my head and curling my toes; my pitiful attempt to wake up. I open my eyes, stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds before I glance to my right—it’s 8:45. I turn to my left and realize that something’s missing—or rather someone. I sit up, rub a hand through my hair and glance around the room. Something seems off but I can’t place it.
I glance at the arm chair that’s usually occupied by a warm body. Only now, it’s occupied by a piece of paper. I shove my covers off and shift to the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my face before I stand. I take the few steps to the chair and stop on awe. It’s me, in complete detail; he’s always done an amazing job at making me seem beautiful.
It takes me a few minutes to realize that it’s quiet, too quiet. There’s no cursing from something burning on the stove, or the overwhelming scent of coffee—there was nothing. I rushed out of the room and into the kitchenette, glancing out into the living room. I noticed a small flash of white in my haste to glance around the room; there was something on the keyboard. I ran over, stumbling over my own feet, nearly tripping over the corner of the coffee table. I picked up the small post-it note and read those few words; as soon as I was finished I fell to my knees on the floor. He was gone.