the jumper

His room lay in disarray, clothes strewn here and there. Mail - opened and unopened - on the floor just to the right of the door. The curtains let a weak beam of the grey daylight through, sucking the colour from everything it touched. It wasn't so much illumination as it was a source of contrast against the darkness. He saw the jumper amidst a pile of others atop his unmade bed. It was black and thick-knit. Bobbles of wool clung from the elbows down to the cuffs. The turtleneck still had the indent from her chin.

He lifted it delicately, as if not to wake it, by the shoulders. The turtleneck fell forward, empty. He held the indent to his nose and closed his eyes, drawing in the air. His eyes stung and a torrent of bittersweet memories flooded back. Her scent remained and for that moment she was there.

Just for that moment.