She lay on her back brown, blue and motionless. Her dress was pulled down and pushed up, meeting in a dark blue scrunch around her waist. She had one lazy nipple that looked down and to the right, the other one seemed to follow me about the room.
Sitting next to her, after I knew she was finally gone was not the emotional climax I had expected. In fact I was disappointed and embarrassed that i didn’t cry. But how could I? She was still there, unchanged except for a new look in here eyes. A look that stared through walls and time.
Organizational details went through my mind. I had lost everything I loved, but the only thing to think about was whether I could wash the sheets or whether I would have to buy new ones. Suddenly the urge to make coffee was too persistent to ignore. Not so much for the taste but for the smell. When I was younger I used to travel around with my father as he went wine tasting and i remember there always being a pot of coffee beans or grounds on the bar. I asked why and was told it was because the smell of coffee reset the nose. the room, humid with the smells of vomit and illness hung stagnant in the room. I went to make coffee, her body lying still in the dress I bought her from Zara.