I always lost time on the walk from work to my girlfriend's flat. If someone asked me for directions there, I probably couldn't give them because I was always too far gone. I can never remember how I got there or how I got home; it just happened.
Today when I arrived there was no answer. The door was unlocked and I wandered in. Everything was gone. Everything. There was no mess, no pictures, no furniture - even the stain from the bottle of wine we knocked over when we first made love was gone.
I should have known this would happen one day, should have seen this disappearing, and should have been part of it. She always talked about it and I always put it down as simple fantasizing - the kind we all dream about for comfort.
Instinctively I pulled out my phone to call her, to maybe catch her at the last second and join up. Instead, I just deleted her. Who goes through the trouble to clean out their flat and then doesn't ditch their cell at the bottom of a dumpster? The first tear started down my cheek
An empty flat is the best place to be alone in. For a few hours I stayed and was just that - completely alone with my mind, thinking one thing the entire time: She was gone.
Eventually, I had to leave. I did still have a life - even though I didn't want it anymore and would leave it just to find her. Stepping into the hallway, I took a deep breath to relieve myself of the death of her flat and saw the number on the door across from hers: 215.
Upstairs, I knocked. She answered.
"Grab only the things you need most", I said, "we're disappearing".
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