She considered them-the old green trainers he had for running on the beach. What a pitiful sight it was-a man’s life reduced to a collection of unwanted items for a jumble sale. If only she could box up her love, as she was attempting to do with his possessions. There was so much of it, and it was so messy: leaking, spilling, tumbling out of her, like stuffing falling out of an old rag doll that was coming apart at the seams.
Even though she knew she’d never see Sebastian again-even though he was gone for good-she was still in love and didn’t know what to do with all this love of hers. Mariana was still in love with him-that was the problem. A year on from his death, the majority of his things remained spread around the house in various piles and half-empty boxes. She was making yet another halfhearted attempt to sort through Sebastian’s belongings. She was on her knees, on the floor, surrounded by boxes.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.Ī few days earlier, Mariana was at home, in London.
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