Packing up the relationship

In a box, the symbol of love in red and gold. In my mind, all I see is a heart I couldn't hold. In a bag is sexy in a box, in a bottle, and a bit of lace and again, I see a heart I couldn't hold. In the closet, far away, a monkey who kept watch over the owner of the heart I couldn't hold. Its fur still smelling of his skin.

I packed all this in the grocery sack he packed my things in. I gathered my courage and my strength, and said I can't have this anymore. It just reminds me of him and I need to move on from him. I went to his place. My stomach lurched before I even entered the elevator. My own up and down movement without the ride. The door was ajar at his place, I knocked, heard nothing, and entered. He was not there, the apartment empty of life, but not of things. Stilly filled with so many things. A man who thinks he can buy happiness, but finds that with each purchase all he did was bring home another burden. He enters the apartment with laundry soap and a denim shirt in his lap.

I come out from the bedroom at the sound of his voice, my own chipper as I say hello back. Andrew looks wonderful. I've always found him so attractive and handsome. I tell him why I came. To give back the things he gave me, all accept two items I chose to keep. His shoulders hunch, his face drops, and he is sad. I pick up the bag handles and announce I'll take it back home. He says that he wouldn't have given it to me if he didn't want me to have it. I replied that it's just to hard to have around, that it reminds me of him. He brings up how I said we can't be friends, that I was the one who said we can't be friends. I ask him what that has to do with giving back his things. He said nothing, just that I said that. I told him I stand by what I said, that I can't be his friend because it's too hard. We stand there longer, he put his arm out, reaching to hug me. I go to him, he embraces me.

I want to tell him he smells good, his cologne wafting up as we touch. We let go and I cry. I turn away from his to compose myself and to wipe the tears away. My hands smell of his cologne. He puts his hand on my arm, a comforting gesture. He looks at me, I look at him and time passes.

We kiss. Deep and long. His hand holds the back of my head against his lips. We kiss. Finally, we extract ourselves and become two again. I leave, my lip raw from rubbing against his mustache. As soon as I see him, my body responds. I went home with a bag of his stuff in my car.