The hallway echoes when I enter, the door slams shut fifteen times after I pull in my suitcase behind me. My now-former roommate has left a few trinkets, a love seat, a few cups, a toothbrush holder. Every piece warms my heart, reminds me of a home we had; I am left now with only questions of what home this will be. I fall asleep quickly, deep jet lagged sleep with no regard to circumstances. Once I wake it is time to leave, to drink, to forget.
We sit in a corner, the regular bar, the familiar warmth, and try to catch up on the weeks that were. An early train departure lies in wait, still we order just one more round, twice, but it will work itself out.
Can we just decide it'll be a fantastic spring? she says, in the swirl of messy stories and confused question marks of what is to come. Good things will come, I know it. We part ways on the corner, the same corner as all those months ago but snowed over now. The cold bites my cheeks, wakes me. It'll be a fantastic spring. I know it.
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