He’s saved it to last. Why this he’s not quite sure. If he’s honest he can’t even remember her having worn it.
The detritus of their failed relationship burns softly in the fireplace.
Was she wearing it the night they met? Or is it just something unworn, unremarkable, unloved and left behind in the rush; the hurried, jagged rush to termination. Like me he thinks.
Then he realises he just compared himself to a scarf. Some small part of his melancholy lifts. He smiles for the first time in a long time.
I used the random word generator again for this one – the words were ‘fireplace’ and ‘scarf’.
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