One last Ficly from home.
I looked at the bar of soap in the dish by the faucet and wondered if it was going to remember me.
Back in my room, the half-full closet was looking half-empty. There was a tv too big for the dorm room, a few scattered pens and pencils, a mountain of dust, and the lingering notion that I had grown up with this place, and not simply in it.
I hadn’t vacuumed the floor. The dust bunnies roamed in herds, freed from the clutches of the dresser which had been moved away from the wall in order to reach several long-lost socks. In the end, most of them didn’t have matches. I threw them away. I no longer owned any socks without matches. I was whole.
In the garage, two cars were packed with everything I needed and everything I didn’t and things I wouldn’t have room for.
It seemed for a moment like everything I had ever done had lead to this. Down to the wire. The pumpkin colored paint, the steel bed frame, and me. And that was that.
Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/20442