Leaving

I pulled a familiar dress over my head, and waited for the rushing in my ears to subside. I sat on the edge of my bed and thought for a moment. My head hurt. Two clamps around my ears, a dagger through the back of my cranium. I can do it, I said to myself. Go in, you have to. It's the end, and the end is always important. I did a Myers Briggs once and I'm a completer-finisher. I like to tie gifts in grosgrain ribbon. So, I slowly and diligently clasped my oyster card in one hand and walked decidedly to the tube, each step accentuating the swoosh of blood through my head. I made it, opened the door to the office, and sat at my desk for the last time. Inanimate objects took on a sentimental touch, I found myself putting old mugs, a greasy mouse mat and a badly-written book into a bag. At 2pm I tried to leave, laughter had left the building and I was alone. In the ladies touching up faded blusher I felt a sadness, a low kind of regret, and I returned to sit at the desk for another few minutes. Just me and some memories, now fading, now not mine, and I cried. I'm ashamed to say, I cried, with no one watching but God.