Her clothes are on the street.
Her stuff is in the fireplace.
There was a time when I would have never dreamed about this.
When I never thought it would end like this.
When I never thought I would throw her clothes out the window.
Or burn her stuff.
But things played out this way.
Maybe it was my fault.
Maybe it was her fault.
I don’t know.
I don’t care.
She’s gone now.
And I’m not letting her back.
She can come and get her clothes from the street.
She can look through the fireplace for the things that didn’t burn.
But I won’t let her stay here again.
I don’t want to see her again.
And I’m sure she doesn’t want to see me.
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Categories: flash fiction