carminefox

i picked up my stuff from my ex-girlfriend's apartment today. it was far weirder than it should've been. she wore seersucker shorts and a nylon jacket over one of the tshirts i was there to pick up, to put on a mini-show about how things were so comfortable and casual that she could laugh about it as i went through her apartment, collecting the odds and ends of a relationship made up of odds and ends. christ, i hate when people plan out little stages for conversations.

the guitar we traded back and forth to write what we thought would be the first of many duets.
the wonder woman t-shirt from the vintage shop on fifteenth street commemorating that costume party.
a headband from a concert.
a pair of shoes (did i leave without shoes?)
my paints and brushes and the nude of her that turned out just how she hoped.
the tattoo designs she tried to make me that told me she didn't know anything about me.

she's not a bad person, but she's the face next to the words "honne" and "tatemae".

i think she expected me to watch her take my shirt off. i didn't, and it made how badly she wanted to appear aloof and okay feel tangible. i grabbed my stuff, kissed her on the cheek, and reminded her that it was her idea before i turned around and walked out. i didn't stay for her response, because that wasn't for me. that was for her.