by Writer 3
Her room was as tidy as a child’s idea of love, all starts and ends and simple connections, without doubt, without the craven idea that things can be other than they are.
Her bed was soft and square.
On her wall was an End Poverty Now poster. He wanted to love her for that, that she believed in ways that he could not.
Her books were arranged on coloured shelves. It took him a moment to understand that each colour was a different subject and that within each colour the books were sorted alphabetically by author.
The pink shelf was romance.
Love between the covers, always tidier than the mess between the sheets.
He touched the switch of her digital radio. Magic was playing While You Were Looking For Sugar.
The music tricked over the surfaces of the room, in between her collection of soft toys.
The room was designed to never surprise, as though life could be lived on the level, as though your heart did not beat and your blood did not flow.
As though you never got hard or wet between your legs.
As though you could be forever undisturbed.
He could see how a person could slip away from here without leaving a trace.
A Tidiness by Writer 3