Day 1. You threw the spare key on my face and banged the door so hard on your way out that the walls still shudder at times by the reverberating echo your door banging left behind. I kept the door unlocked for the whole night, but you did not knock. Feeble hopes kept coming in the form of winds gushing through the creeks of the door, making me rise for any sign of you.

Month 1. The house has been cleaned and the floor has been scrubbed far too many times now. And the cupboard with your perfumes has been replaced by a shiny new one. But your fragrance lingers and your memories stay, hiding in the corners of my universe somewhere, out beyond the ideas of space and time.

Year 1. Now I need pictures to remember the traces of your jawline and shapes of your cheekbones. Today, I see you in the bar far away from your place. You smile. I smile. I remember. You remember (?). You take a few steps forward and disappear in the night, banging the door on your way out. My glass shudders for a moment and I go a few step backwards, to Day 1.

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