The Faded Apartment
You are standing in the doorway of the house that was once yours, holding a jar of preserves that has been on the counter for three years, the lid rusted shut by time and neglect, the label faded to a ghost of its original blue. It is not a dramatic exit, this leaving, but a slow bleeding out of presence, a withdrawal of heat from a room that has already gone cold. The war is over, or at least...
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