He dressed quickly, tucking his green polo short in the waist of his jeans, hastily, the edges of it poking out from either side. He slipped his bare feet into his loafers, and I could hear him mutter “f**k, f**k,” as he scrambled around the faintly illuminated bedroom to the door, tripping over his shoe laces, ignoring me, never saying goodbye, and disappearing out of the room, down the hall, like his magic trick a year ago, out of my life, the front door opening, then closing, frustratingly hard.
My heart beating, I lay back in bed, pulling the sheet up to my waist, listening to the familiar, troubling silence of my life.
