This is not about that day. It isn’t about her either. It has nothing to do with that morning when I woke up next to her and thought about all the days we’d spent together and all the nights.
These days I hardly ever think of the way I crept out of the bed while she still slept and gathered my belongings together in the curtained gloom of an early morning. This has nothing to do with how the seasons were changing and the summer was beginning its long slow fall into autumn. I can remember the way I shivered as I gathered my belongings from around her room, not trying to look at her as she slept.
I knew I had to go and I knew if I turned to watch her sleeping that, within moments, I would be undressing to get back in bed beside her again.
All through that morning as the dawn became the day, I did not think of her and how good it would to be back in the bed beside her. I did not want to take her in my arms as she surfaced out of sleep and….
I left the house and did not look back. I know better than to look back. I know better than to think about her and those days we had together. I do not think about those times, not ever.
Most of all, though, I never think about Natalie, nor how stupid I was for leaving her behind... and I never think of her name.
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