(short short story)


I peeled my eyes open to find that your shoes were no longer tucked away to the left of my bedroom corner. The story had retold itself before I could hold up a hand and protest the unfolding. How would I explain this exit to myself that always wondered where it all went wrong.

From 7 o’ clock in the evening last night to 3 o’ clock in the morning, Ben and I breathed each other and never came up for air. When his lips weren’t on mine, we used them to explore every detail about each other and anything that kept us connecting. He investigated every surface of my make-up.

I was in a daze as he and I carried on as young, french lovers on a cobble-paved street in Greece, barefoot and exposed trotting along down to the green beach.

The hours were filled with passion and sex, je t’aime and sighs, and silence that made sense in its spontaneous placement. I wanted him to stay ‘till the sun came up and leave when it turned blue.


Those hours faded into a morning of nothing.


When I turned over my bed to find Ben gone, the feeling has no word fit to explain it.


I go about my day glaring or glimpsing over at my phone hoping he’ll be there blinking in a message explaining what I have been wondering. I’m always left disappointed.

So this guy I know laying beside me cannot understand why I am the way I am; Ben happened to me and I needed him. I need his shoes back tucked away to the left of my bedroom door,

where they belong.




Michael Kelly