She stretches as the weak white light streams through her window.
As she tastes the acrid morning breath on her tongue and in the back of her throat
The memory of him hits her hard.
The way he used to bring her coffee and scones in bed.
The way the scone would crumble and they'd find crumbs between the sheets for days after.
But he had left one month, three days, and 16 hours back, saying he's leaving to find himself,
and she doesn't know when she'll see him again.
The timer on the coffee pot blinks down to 0 and beeps, throwing her out of her reverie.
She shakes her head to clear it of the memories buzzing through it.
As she gets out of bed she smells the rich coffee scent diffusing through the tiny apartment.
She pulls on her ragged silk kimono and pads into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the icy linoleum.
It is cold on this gray February morning.
A taxi pulls up outside.
She reaches for the 3 day old pile of mail and sips her coffee.
No cream or sugar.