EMPTY
She was gone. He had left her for two days to go away on business and when he got back, all that remained were a few empty clothes hangers and a note that summed up their relationship of the past year more succinctly than he ever would have dreamed possible.
When he had first stepped into their apartment, he had sensed something was amiss. People have a way of filling a space with more than their possessions; they almost take it over spiritually as well. That was definitely the case with their modest home.
Hell, when they had first moved in, it had taken them a few weeks to make it “feel like home”. That had always seemed like a decorative trend to him – it would never be home until you had set up your things. He realized now though, that it didn’t feel like home until you were able to permeate the spaces with the essence of who you were.
You need to lay your scent, much like a dog would. You needed to breath in that stale air of past resident’s and exhale it back out as your own. Your possessions were an important part of making a building feel like home, but it never really was home until you had filled those dark voids with the essence of your self.
They had been happy in those early months. They had cooked exotic foods, spilled drinks, smoked the odd cigarette, and sweated through sexual marathons. They had done all these things and more to make this place feel more like home and they had succeeded for a while.
Eventually it became clear that it also took people to make a home; more that one for sure. That was evident now that she was gone and had summed up their home, life, and relationship in the note.
He had read that word and it was like the whole space had frosted over. Like his life and all they had ever shared had turned into fragments of ice, with one simple word: “Empty.”
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