She calls no more.
There are no more letters or silly cards from her.
The spot reserved for her emails,
a picture frame thumbnail, sits vacant and sad.
I know I should delete it, but don't know why I haven't.
Ringtones are a dirge.
Pillows and covers and mugs and sofa divots wait expectantly.
Lamenting.
I had to throw out my clothes, the ones she wore when she was cold
or too lazy to pick her own up from the floor.
Was it her scent i could still smell from them after a hundred washes?
Another life is being filled by her existence, now.
He wont notice her impact until it's too late.
I hope it works out between them.
And that she's always safe.