It’s laying under the flower pot at your front doorstep. There’s a small rock set on the opposite corner, like the pot isn’t heavy enough to keep it down.
Leaning over, you take it from its hiding space, realizing it’s a letter. Your name is written across the white in black ink. The handwriting is familiar. Something you’ve seen in journals and lyrics written quickly on newspaper or paper towels when his phone was too far away. You found parchment in your purse from the small train you took in Amsterdam. The song turned into roses. Who knew one lyrical line would’ve turned into your favorite song.
When the door is unlocked and your bag and keys are on the hook, you take a seat by the window. Your cat is curled up at your feet, stirring in her sleep.
The envelope is sealed, but you don’t go to open it as quickly as you should. The lip feels heavy, straining your shoulders. The breakup is still fresh, too fresh to read his letter. Maybe he wants to get back together.. maybe he’s about to show up with a bouquet of tulips and a single white rose- the only way you’ll accept flowers. Maybe it’s actually from Aaliyah, or an old friend from college. It was your birthday just last month. It could be a forgotten gift and the writer was too embarrassed to give it to you, face to face.
“What am I waiting for?” You ask yourself, knowing the longer you wait the worse the pain in your chest will feel. The words he spoke will never leave. They’re tattooed in your mind..anyone else would’ve found it beautiful, poetic. For you? It was tragic.
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“No, not at all. I like to have food and heat, and I like to live in faintly pleasant surroundings. But otherwise, no. I’ve got no desire to possess anything at all. I can’t fathom the idea of going to Madrid to shop. Which is why I’m not really successful as a pop star, if you like. Quite recently we went to Italy to do these television shows. And there were at least ten other famous acts from England, and we spent about a week with them. It was really intriguing to me because we’d never really mixed with pop stars before, and most of what they did, I didn’t understand. I have very humble requirements - they’re offbeat and quite damaging at times but they’re certainly humble. I don’t really want to own anything at all. Not even a moped.” - Morrissey, 1987