Creative

Packed bags

'I think I might pack some things,' he said.

Usually she'd be excited to see packed bags. Packed bags meant holidays and seeing family. Discovering, exploring and new cultural experiences with the hope of gifts from a loved one. Packed bags meant moving house. New adventures and new beginnings. A new town or suburb to explore, new neighbours to meet, a new house to decorate. But this time, packed bags meant the possibility of the end of an era and of a relationship. Packed bags meant cold nights in an empty bed and meals for one. Loneliness and longing. A world of security and comfort lost. She wasn't so excited about these packed bags at all.

'I'm going to go into the lounge room and watch TV,' she said, 'and you're going to go into the bedroom and close the door.'

'Why?' he asked.

Because she couldn't watch him remove the clothes she'd folded for him and placed in his drawers and take his toothbrush and shaving gel she'd arranged for him in the bathroom and put them in the packed bag to loneliness. She couldn't watch him prepare to leave her.

Not long after, he emerged from the bedroom, packed bag in hand. She looked up at him from her spot rugged up on the couch, the light from the TV illuminating her face, eyes glistening with impatient tears.

'I'm gonna go,' he said.

'There's some leftovers in the fridge if you want to take them with you for lunch tomorrow,' she replied, forcing down the lump constricting her throat.

'You're so sweet,' he said, reaching down to stroke her cheek.

It felt strange, as if there were more love and respect between them now than ever before, in the moments before the end.