When she decided to leave, I collected her things and thought about the color of my shirt to wear to work. Strange, but at breakfast I did not feel anything, absolutely. I may have eaten well. Or he was just sure that she would return in the evening. At lunch, I poured coffee on myself, leaving a big stain on my favorite shirt. But this did not upset me, on the contrary - I knew that when I returned home, she would lock it in on me. When I opened the door, it was dark in the apartment, and there were no keys on the fridge. There was no smell of dinner, and the mug of unfinished tea stood in its place. Never before has an apartment been so empty. And for the first time I lingered on the threshold.
The third night I could not sleep properly. The bed seemed too big and uncomfortable. Towards morning I woke up with a rush of blood and wanted to wake her up with kisses so that I could not sleep again, breathing out her breaths. I frantically drove my hand, trying to grope her shoulders. Hands and warm fingers. Emptiness. And her pillow was cold as never before. A week later, I remembered the existence of God, to whom never had been concerned. To feel the breath behind my back and rush home from work every day — it was so poor before and had no price now. At this minute. To intolerable. Loneliness Of fear.
The stain on the shirt, and pride with the size of the apartment took the size of the stain. Doorbell. And behind the door she is from banal phrases to her coffee eyes.
When she returned, I no longer allowed her to leave.