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She said she'd be fifteen minutes. Something about a parcel and the post office closing; I don't know. It'd been a year since I saw her and I was distracted in attempting to avoid an awkward 'hello, how have you been?' / 'hey, you found the place okay?' conversation overlap, which did of course occur in our hasty need to find comfort in the situation.

     Shitloads of green in her flat. Green rug, dark green lamps, more shades than Kanye West I thought to myself, summarily choking a nervous laugh. Sad. Sad and pathetic.

     The neo-ruffian theme clawed itself into every nook and cranny. A book on John Peel, the story of the 'the stones', a CD collection that any respectable indie beard-stroker would gladly stroke his beard at before raising his eyebrows and nodding.

     'It all seemed so conscious' I thought as I perused the black, 60s coffee table's array of trendy trinkets, thinking back to the days we were together and ultimately our break-up.

     'I love you but you're going nowhere,' she had said, her face lit up by the street lamps and low-level light pollution on that bridge in London, one year ago. Four years of staying together during her degree, rewarding but a struggle nonetheless; and there we stood. Grasping our round-the-world plane tickets in my hand, a gift for her graduation. The commitment seemed to spark something she'd obviously been thinking about for a while.

     'Going nowhere', I thought. She was right, of course. I hadn't gone anywhere. So why invite me to her flat after all this time?

     Glancing around pensively at the urbanic, socially conscious, organised, succesful clutter that lined the place - hit me; and bluntly. She just wanted to re-affirm her decision. And where better but in the surroundings of her success. There was to be no reconcilliation. I had gone nowhere, she could go anywhere. I blinked a long blink, my eyes awaking to the fix of the cream panneled floor.

*

A year since I saw him, a long time I thought as I walked into the post-office and to the desk. Try not to think about it, you don't know how he'll react if he thinks you're not being yourself. Could be awkward, which would not be good. The man at the counter collected and passed the special delivery to me as if he knew I was concerned about something. I found a brief moment of solitude in his wink and sympathetic smile, but the fresh air brought a breeze of more worry.

     Standing outside the door I tried to collect myself, practicing a smile and taking a deep breath.

     'James?' I called as I stepped in. 'Hope I wasn't too long, are you...'

     No reply, the living room was empty.

     My eyes scanned the fixtures, collating upon a piece of paper left on the floor, somehow elevated.

     I knelt and picked it up. Underneath was a pile of excrement.

     'Dear Sarah. As you can see, this is where I've gone.'

     And my hand grasped at the envelope that contained two round-the-world tickets, tears filling my eyes.