Musings of a Divorcee

Tonight, I walked through the apartment, attempting to put O— to sleep. The the only light, the glow of the streetlights creeping in through curtains not fully closed.

I took inventory of the place – a dizzying mess. So much evidence of children, and disconnect. One day, I thought, he won’t actually live here, sharing bedtime duties or chores.

My mind flashing forward to the ghosts of his presence, and what might remain from a shared life.

Bookcases some percent of full. The only evidence of the Malcolm X drawing or the “Father and Son” piece are the picture hooks left behind.

And the bedroom we once called ours, empty of his armoire – just dust remaining in the place of the things that once were.