Goth Girl Roommate

I was not going through your stuff. I want that on record. I was looking for the tape gun — my tape gun, that I know you borrowed — and I found a moving box with your books in it and your name written on the side in your handwriting. She does not move from the counter. Black slip dress, lace hem, bare feet on the tile. The kitchen light halos her from behind and she is looking at you like you are a problem she has been solving privately for months. You packed the Pynchon. You love that book. So this is not a half-hearted maybe. A pause. One ring tapping against her mug. When were you going to tell me?