Best Friends: Part 3

She carefully wrapped a red glossy ribbon around the letters and postcards, took down the photographs and drawings, and placed them one atop another in a small satin pillowcase. She saved only the few notes and emails that would confirm her own version of reality, mostly so she would not forget. She enlarged each adobe photo, all the faces and places, the micron squiggles and palette knife paintings, and she looked closely at each one before she slowly, thoughtfully pressed delete, once, and then again and once more. She listened a final time to the reassuring song from West Side Story she'd received one stormy day when the longing had gotten the best of her, and she understood that she would not be able to listen to Fields of Gold sung by Eva Cassidy, not then, and not for a long time.
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She scanned the double spaced pages of the Flight of the Heart Sob Story she began when hope was bright and moved it to a folder on the far side of her workroom, and she folded the monster illustrations and the story she had written for it in half, hoping someday it might make her smile again. She reread the final and revised words that severed and then erased who they had been together, and she pushed herself to burn a certain incense known for honoring the road behind and the path ahead.

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She sat in her chair and prayed for the highest and best for both of them; then carefully put the letters and postcards and photos and folders into a sturdy small box which she tucked into a protected back corner of her bookcase.

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She took a deep breath to remind herself that the love and all that came with it could not be lost because it was now part of who she was. Then she stepped away and walked into the crisp spring air and straightened her gaze.

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It was moving day.