The Gaps People Leave Behind
To love is to let love and pain blend into one.
Cake for lunch.
Either that, or a £27 selection box of fine vegan chocolates.
That’s how I know things have gone bad.
I mean, surely I should be used to it by now. My boyfriend and I have been together for 13 years. He leaves me to go on long tours with bands 2–3 times a year.
Sometimes, I look forward to the peace. To knowing I’ll have more time to read, will get to secretly clear-out the wardrobe (“yes, this tshirt does have five holes but I’ll keep it for when the flat needs painting”), and that the kitchen surfaces will stay clean.
Yet when the day comes it still always leaves me feeling unprepared. Taken aback by the void. The energy left behind. The woody smell of his aftershave lingering in the bathroom hours after he walked out the door.
The flight-size deodorant, hand gel and earphones sitting neatly on his bedside table ready for the carry-on but forgotten in a last-minute rush to catch his Uber leave me in tears.
The cats are also sad. They know what an open suitcase on the spare-room bed means. They lay in it and sleep in it to try and disrupt the packing process in silent protest.
