I guess I have to tell them about you. I can’t keep walking into the boardroom with a briefcase in my hand and pretend that I forgot the combination which unlocks it. I have to show them your photographs, your notes, the notes I wrote to you. The trinkets which you left behind unintentionally. All the tapes in which I recorded your voice. I have to show them everything. I no longer feel these belong to me. No longer feel you let me have them. I feel as though I took them from you
without your consent. I feel I stole them from you. I can no longer put on a suit and tie and pretend as though the time we spent together was business as usual because it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a transaction. I have to explain why my hair looks disheveled. Why I haven’t shaved. Why I’m wearing old sneakers at a business meeting. Why my clothes seem as though they haven’t been washed or
ironed in weeks. Why do I always smell like nicotine and alcohol. Why does it seem like I haven’t slept in weeks. I need to empty the contents of my
briefcase in front of them now. They need to know what I have been
carrying with me. It’s been on the agenda for a while.