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I am getting dressed:
(I am disposing of the condom)
I walk to the night-stand and collect my rings. The rest are his things: a book I’ve never heard of and he has yet to read, a lamp that bore witness to our final act together.
The break-up sex was cruel: eyes turned away, a bitten lip to stay the tears. (Sex is sex.)
I’m going to use the free time to make myself better.
Have a good night. (Bye)
I lean forward. X ()
The Uber ride home is lonely. The streets are clear at 2 a.m. The buildings all look the same.
When I wake up the next morning, I think about not thinking about him. I do my routine, I watch a Ted Talk.
I picture him waking up
— blankets strewn across the floor —
doing his routine in an apartment that is bigger now:
life as normal.
(I think about not thinking about her.)