Fragments

She still couldn't forget him.

Fragments of his figure peeked through the gaps in her daily life. She could still recall his face, of course, but it was somehow sadder when she remembered the shape of the bones on the back of his hand or the curve of his Achilles tendon.

Sometimes she wondered if she hadn't loved him, but rather loved these fragments of him: his nails, his Adam's apple, his earlobes, his kneecaps.

She took out an old photo from a drawer and began to cut him out with scissors. His head, neck, chest, stomach, legs, feet, and various other parts.

She looked at each piece in turn: head, neck, chest, stomach, legs, feet, and others. She thought she'd feel sad, but she felt nothing.

After carelessly bundling the cut-out pieces of him into a trash bag, she realized she was hungry.