I found his journal after he moved out. The last entry was about me.
He left everything except his journal. She found it under the mattress. The last page broke her open.
He moved out on a Sunday.
Took the books. The lamp. The coffee maker.
Left the bed.
I stripped the sheets that night.
Lifted the mattress to flip it.
A journal fell out.
Black cover. No title.
I should have mailed it back.
I opened it instead.
The first entry was dated the week we met.
She ordered her coffee wrong today. Said she meant to.
I smiled at that.
The entries were short. A few lines each.
Details I didn't know he noticed.
The way I hum when I fold laundry.
The freckle behind my ear.
The way I always touch the door frame when I leave a room.
He mapped me in a notebook I was never meant to find.
The entries got longer around month six.
Paragraphs. Full pages.
The last entry was dated the day before he left. I turned the page with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.