traditional letter.

by Ingo Joseph

I fold the traditional goodbye letter and place it on your bedside table before I sneak out while you sleep. My train will leave in forty-five minutes, but I am not scared of being late. More than anything, I fear the letter and its mission. I lock your front door and I leave the key under the doormat. I wait for the bus and I cry during the whole twenty-minute ride without tears, but I keep you on my mind. On the first thing you would do when you see the letter. On your next days alone in the apartment. On your possible eating habits. On your smokes, and beers, and medicines.

Two more minutes before the train leaves. I sit by the window to witness the dawn later. Once, someone told me not to miss the person I left or I would regret I ever did that. I do not get that: why would you leave then miss them?

The train moves and as I look out the window, I see a familiar face on the platform by the silhouette of the lamp, and I avert my gaze on the controller entering the train. It was just a short magic of the midnight and nothing else. After all, I did not see you. At all.


WORD COUNT: 216

Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

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