Barefoot at the door
parasol
When she leaves you, she’ll go quietly barefoot. Not because she’s frightened, but because she never wanted to say goodbye. It will hurt.
She’ll take a stupid suitcase, which is awkward, even when empty. It will barely be half full and still it will blister her fingers.
She could even sprain her ankle on the shallow, bottom step, it might be sore and bruised for a week or more You’ll never see it. She’ll be gone.
There’ll be no smell of coffee when you wake. That’s how you’ll know.
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