Ms Misterman

Illustration by Büke Schwarz

 

On Being Alone in His Home

It's odd. Being alone in his home is odd. It's the closest he can be without seeing me. Instead I see him. The place is brimming. It's brimming with him. It's photographs, books and a countless kept things. Each detail so confident, so sweet, so effortlessly placed on its on feet.

All the things in this home possess their own wandering spot. They belong. They have for years. But the question is: to whom? I touch this. I touch that. But who is touching me back? Is it him? Is it her? I cannot help feeling a pinch.

Of course, this place has a past. And of course, the memory lasts. I have places and memories, too. But none that I loved, let alone for years. I want to feel at ease. And I want make peace, peace with his home, with the place nearest to the past of his heart. So, I accept and concentrate on the books. The books! He is in the books.