"I should've kissed you when we were walking in the rain, but what am I now, darling?"

She took one long look, her last, all around the place. There lay the pieces of paper that rustled around on the floor, and walls generally faded except for the squares where there were pictures on the wall, brightly coloured patchwork walls. The peripherals of an entire existence wrapped away in a fixed numbers of boxes, in a truck that was revving up four stories below. If there was to be a soundtrack, there would be the sound of crashing piano chords. Or maybe Frank Sinatra?
But there was no soundtrack except for the assorted sounds of the people on the street, the cars as they whizzed on by, and the audible sigh of the failed poet who lived downstairs.
"We hates to be movin' yer along, ma'am, but we has fo' mo' deliveries to made, see, an' we, we was jus' wonderin'...". He had the strength of several wild horses, but the deliveryman's only contact with all things fine were boxes marked "Fragile". But he'd picked the short straw and it was his job to hustle this nostalgic client along, slightly nudge her along to the future.
"Yes, of course."
So she sighed one last sigh, brushed the hair out of her eyes, and walked out of the door.


Post Title - Cheers Darlin', Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan.