Melchor

“You are nothing like her...,” is what your card said. It sat atop my old moss green luggage, waiting for me to do something about it. I entered your apartment in a daze, confused with the bareness of it, with just the clatter of the keys echoing, welcoming me. Empty and discarded, with everything that once brought it life, gone. And like a lost kid, waiting for me amidst its emptiness is my old luggage. It looked so out of place in all that space. I wanted to hug it; or rather I wanted it to hug me. Desperate times call out for desperate measures, doesn't it?

“You are nothing…”

This already feels like a nightmare