Move out 

You wake up one day and the bed is empty. Love has left. Wait, there is movement. Someone pulls the covers away. You rub your eyes and there she is, but she looks different. Older. Sadder. There are grey hairs. Autonomy stares at you. You shift uncomfortably under her gaze. What to do now? 

Touch, perhaps. But there is no flesh. There is only air. The air vibrates. Did Love leave a note? No, but there is a dent in the bed. 
Maybe it’s time to move out of the house.  

 

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