In my head I have a story about you, about us, about the moment you are going to leave me.
It was so clear-cut, precise and brilliant: a diamond of short stories. In my head I imagined it perfectly how it will play out. The metaphors, the arc, the lines, the act, the words I will use will be perfect. You and I, in that story, will be perfect.
We shall be shaped by the story’s perfect metaphor. We can be.
Of course, I will never write it now; I do not want to kill you, not even in my head.
In the office, we were talking about the superstitions and the gifts we are allowed to give to loved ones: no shoes or shirts or anything to signal leaving. No pictures together too.
And then we were told about something we can exchange, a gift that would keep us close. That gift would be perfect for a story but because it will involve a loved one dying in the story, then this explanation would do.
Remember Stranger than Fiction?