What We Hold Onto

I went running again at dawn — my third time this week, though that's probably generous. Most of it was walking, my breath coming in ragged gasps while the sunrise painted the sky in bruised purples and angry reds. The pavement was already warm, mocking my pathetic attempt to outrun a life that had already moved on without me.

He'd been gone three weeks. Three weeks of coming home to an apartment that felt cavernous, though we'd only lived there eighteen months. The goldfish bowl sat on the windowsill, one lone fish circling in its tiny universe. He'd bought it on impulse, that spring afternoon when we'd wandered through the street fair, fingers interlaced, sunlight warming our shoulders. 'Goldfish have three-second memories,' he'd said, dumping the bag into the bowl. 'Lucky bastards.'

Now I envied them.

The baseball game played softly on the radio — a habit I couldn't break. We'd listened together every Sunday during the season, his body curved around mine on the couch, commentary washing over us like water. Those moments had felt like something you could hold, solid and permanent. But permanence was just another story we told ourselves.

I opened the refrigerator and stared at the container of spinach, now slimy with age. I'd bought it the night before he left, thinking we'd make salads, thinking there would be time. There was never enough time. Or maybe there was too much, and we'd simply learned how to waste it together.

The goldfish surfaced, mouth opening and closing at the water's surface. Feed me. Notice me. Choose me.

I turned off the radio. The silence was worse.

In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet and watched the water spiral down the drain, thinking about all the things we couldn't save, no matter how tightly we held on. Some things were meant to slip through your fingers — marriages, moments, the particular sound of someone else's breathing in the dark.

The goldfish circled endlessly, forgetting everything, swimming the same path over and over. And I stood there, running nowhere, unable to forget anything at all.