leaving.

Why did you take a lamp?
Because I needed light.

But why did you just take one lamp?
Because I was trying to be nice and reasonable,
because you freaked out when I asked for a side table,
because that way we could each have one...
which of the answers is he looking for?

What am I going to do with one lamp?
One lamp is useless.
You might as well just take both of them.

So this is how it's going to be. 

I took one lamp. I took one pot and I took one frying pan. I took my desk and computer and the twin bed out of the spare room. He watched me pack. He opened the boxes of my clothing and knick-knacks to see what I was taking.

He insisted we split the framed photos. But they were all photos I had taken of my family and then had framed, and I couldn't leave them. Instead I left the framed pictures of us on the wall:
Us, on the cruise with fancy pineapple drinks in our hand waving from the port. Us, sitting in lawn chairs eating snowballs at the Mardi Gras parade. Us, gazing at each other while slow dancing in my bridesmaid dress at my best friend's wedding. Us, on the first year's Christmas card where we sat outside with the dog and the cat and my brother took pictures until we knew that that one would be perfect, the dog's head cocked to the side between ours. And, the most newly framed us, smiling from behind the three-tiered cascading-pink-roses-that-perfectly-matched-my-bouquet on white-icing cake which took me three whole afternoons to decide on.

That night he called and asked me whether I took the paper towels with me. He didn't believe me when I said no. They aren't here now and they were here before you packed. 

So this is how it's going to be.