It was a brief moment, that's all: your fingers brushing mine as you handed back the keys. We smiled politely and wished each other well. What else was left to say?
I do wish you well. You were the most comforting part of my life for nine years and that remusn the case even if you won’t be anymore; even if we’ll now be reduced to exchanging pleasantries at the odd event or celebration thrown by some mutual acquaintance.
Your fingers brushed mine for just a moment, but that was enough to summon up a flood of memories.
The day we first bought this house and you made such a big deal of carrying me over the threshold, even though I laughed and said it wasn’t going to work, I was too tall for that. We were both in stitches, collapsing to the ground before you could even take your first step towards the door.
The day Slinky joined us. It sounds callous to say it now — you, more than anyone, know how much I adored that cat — but I’m glad she passed away before we broke up. Sharing custody of her would have been too much. Too upsetting.
The birch tree we planted outside during our first week in this house is so sturdy now, branches dripping its leaves all over the front path. It’ll be here, strong and cheery, when the new owners walk up to the door with their own luggage — their own hopes and dreams. Something about that comforts me; we never were able to have children, but this one tangible thing we grew together will continue to provide joy to whoever arrives here next.
A response to the prompt flood – with much gratitude to community stalwart 