An unexceptional scene from the narrative of the end at 4 AM.

A young lady sitting on the corner of a bed. Her bed. A lamp she had bought one day with him at a thrift store illuminated half of her face and a fraction of his. The light from it is dim and warm. A young man lying on the very edge of the mattress. Used, crumpled tissues on the comforter and the floor. A bottle of empty nail polish remover in the corner near the silver-yellow trash can. More tissues discarded in the trash can; some are mostly tissue, others are mostly tears. Paper shapes hanging from the ceiling in decoration. They make shadows on her face and on the wall as they revolve in the soft light. Mostly packed luggage near the closet with mirrors for doors. His jacket draped across her back. Her tears wet on his shoulder. Hands clasped halfway together. Three shoes on the floor, a fourth hiding beneath the dresser. The sound of the bath running from down the hall. A soundless TV screen behind her. A wall, and a nightstand behind him. The wall full of pictures of everything he had missed before meeting her. A half-torn box near the door containing a camera and a maroon book without a title. The book is thicker than its spine can support. It is missing some pages but none of the important ones.