Leather Duffel Bag

The bag lay in the corner of the room, untouched. it had sat there for three months now, pushed out of the way a little more each time he entered the room. its dimpled, matte leather surface was witness to a large part of his past. his unwillingness to open it was spurned by the fear of the pain its contents would bring. memories of dreams he once held. pieces of a former life. the proof his once well-planned future was no longer achievable lay within the confines of its polyester lined interior. The look in her eyes spoke more than the words she had just uttered. the gleam of her pale blue iris seemed duller than he had ever witnessed before. his gaze dropped to the worn wooden flooring of the former eatery. the words being spoken around him were no longer individually distinguishable, merging to become a long drawl and being overwhelmed by the thousand thoughts colliding inside his head. what he thought was the beginning of his own version of happily ever after was abruptly ended by the sentence she had just delivered to him. unable to focus his eyes, let alone his mind, he left, the untruthful raps of the mediocre opening act, the soundtrack to his heavy legs being placed mindlessly on the narrow steps of the steep staircase leading out to the street. The droplets pooled together, not unlike the beads of condensation on the windows of the cold, squalid flat he lived in when they first met. as he sat upright, the moisture ran down his face into his mouth. the salty taste of his own sweat had become synonymous with the dark dreams that regularly awoke him each night. a blind stumble to the door was hampered by the leather duffel that was still on the floor. with one foot entangled in its well worn handle, he turned on the light. his eyes were still adjusting to the sudden change in ambience as he knelt beside the satchel and calmed himself. the raw sound of its oversized zip pierced the silent room and the cold perspiration on his hands left clammy smudge marks on its wrinkled surface. His somewhat un-vogue wardrobe was laid neatly on the bed they used to share. five years of memories in a fabric form. the torn jeans her mother had mended when they lived in a pokey basement flat beneath her parents house sat beside the jacket he had put over her shoulders that night it rained after they had first shared dinner. each item drew a heart tearing flashback as it was positioned into the leather bag. teardrops stained its matte exterior, deepening its neutral tone and rolling together, swirling to create a two toned, depressed jackson pollock effect. she walked past the doorway of the bedroom, a sideways glance bestowing the same lack of gleam in her eyes he had seen the night it happened. He reached into the duffel, the cold metal of its zip felt ice cold against his sweat covered forearms. the suit he bought to appear dapper at her rich friends cocktail party lay on top, its neatly creased pants now crinkled through the wears of travel. a life he once knew lay inside this bag, and sorting its contents brought painful emotions to the surface. white hairs of the dog he bought her for their anniversary could be found on each garment he unearthed, the pain of losing two loves was echoed in his sobs and the cold perspiration on his face melded with warm tears. many of the items were packed unnecessarily, a jersey two sizes too small because she shrunk it in the dryer was merely there because it held that memory. a torn beyond repair sweatshirt was packed because her scent lingered on it, as she would wear it in the mornings after they had been socialising. When every item had been removed, and was placed around him neatly on the floor, he realised that he was no longer crying. he was only making crying noises.