She's gone

He found her gone. She had completely cleaned out her and her boys things in the house, and it was now very empty and lifeless without them.

 He tried to tell himself how silly this was, his weeping. He had lived here, alone, well before she had ever moved in. It wasn't even as if he had wanted her to live with him in this house. 

She had far more demanded than asked in the first place, showing up with cardboard boxes, cartoons of effluvia, and a duffel bag of her clothes; gesturing to her heart and stomach, trying to seduce them both into thinking that he would love living with her, that she waited please him hugely just by inhabiting his space. 

Then, as if by the force of love alone, and ( not counting on his reluctance to leave the pregnant girl on his doorstep with her thing clustered around her like flowers laying at the feet of a stage performer) she had hefted boxes and bags, and slopped her burgeoning belly into the door; effectively moving him out of the door frame of his new house, as if he was of no importance whatsoever in his own domicile.

At the time, while he knew he did not love her, he tried to comfort himself with the thought that he showed himself to be of good character, to have pity her enough to have enough of the two approximate loving. 

Now, when reviewed his beastly behavior towards her while she had shared his domicile, he tried to dredge up things that he could find flaws in her for, or if he could pin any of his faults on her.

She had left him. calling, texting him many times, and before he walked out without word of where, and how long. She  had told him flat out that he needed to get himself together with her posthaste about his non-involvement and lack of caring in and for her and the baby. That she would be leaving shortly to not return again.

She had not said where she was going, or if she would ever contact him about practical things, like child support. but instead, this terseness, opining that he had broken her heart and that she had (regardless of inconveniencing his bachelorhood single lifestyle) had done nothing to harm him but only gave him the best love and care that she knew how.

He was now in the seemingly empty house. Now lonely, with only his things. Wondering on the  remarkable to use this to his wants and desires, for her lack of respect for him, rather than the other way around. 

He spent a great deal of time wandering from room to room, internally commenting on his misfortune at her hand while staring at his personal house dust and house goods that lacked any of the warmth or vibrancy her clutter had conveyed. It seemed her inexpensive, cultured junk that he always complained about. While she was overflowing in warmth; so much more than his chic slim-lined taste. He wish she had taken everything of the things they had bought together. The vases, picture frames, bookends. It really was theirs - and so it all reeked of her. 

Leave me alone, leave me alone. Person-less. Object-less. Worry-less. Let me just finish my life simply, in measured out time. 

And still - there were times when, he missed her crocked smile. The grubby hands of his son. The complication. The clutter. The mess.