moving on
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The same door remains, but the woman behind it no longer mistakes hunger for love or scraps for a meal.
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Missing her later does not erase the silence that taught her what absence weighs when love refuses to show up.
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The goodbye arrived so slowly she mistook it for distance, until silence had already taught her how to live without them.
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They returned after the door had already changed meaning and loneliness was no longer enough reason to let them back in.
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The last time she saw them becomes a scene memory keeps replaying, searching ordinary details for the goodbye it did not recognize yet.
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Love did not end in one dramatic moment; it wore down slowly until the sentence finally learned where to stop.
