They had both joked that neither of them were the marrying
kind. Eventually the truth in that
made their ending – though not their epilogue – easier. Steve walked into the house, empty but
for a few pieces of furniture and stacks of neatly labeled boxes neatly arranged in
the hallway, unsullied by lawyerly hands.
The familiar cursive writing on the boxes reminded him of
the strong hands that dragged the Sharpie across the cardboard, spelling out
“Adam – Kitchen” and “Adam – bedroom.”
His heart paused with fresh dread at finding The Note. Steve scanned the countertops and tables
for The Note that would predict Adam’s perfunctory return. When he found there wasn't one, his heart
resumed, fell and left the falling feeling in its place.
He studied the outlines on the walls of where pictures
used to be. Their time together was
now bounded by these dark outlines; distilled into these boxes.
