by Allison Renner
I never thought I would be here, in this house, doing laundry without you. I closed off that room because I grew tired of looking in. I can’t just walk by; I always go in and sit down and think about you while the rivets of my jeans crash against the dryer walls. The buzzer startles me from my thoughts, and it’s done, I’m done. I barely have the energy to walk to the laundry room and scoop the clothes into the basket. I dump them on the bed and fall face first onto them, the only way my bed stays warm these days, without you.
Allison Renner writes here.