The leaves became fresh; less brittle, less dry.
Windows were being oiled, washed to open upon the new arrival.
She awakened, rolled over, looked around, got up.
The cold timid floor rose to meet her feet, wanting warmth, wanting weight.

Sighing she opened the bureau; leafed through a few - chose drab colors for a world becoming renewed.
Little with care she slid in her garments, padded her feet with shoes, went to her kitchen.

She opened her cabinet; a selection of favorites, plain teas was decided - plain tea of all things.
Filling the kettle to the brim she waited for the whistle while her thoughts, her thoughts waited for nothing.

She sat at the coffee table; one foot over the other.
She sat with her tea trying not to wonder what day or when, why - to die she thought would be better.

She finished her tea, put the saucer on a shelf, dishes on the sink; ambled out of the kitchen.

Laying on the couch away from the phone, she tried not to touch it; just leave it alone.
The urge grew inside her took hold of her hands.

The receiver was cold against her ear. Slowly, with length, she heard a dial tone.

With quiet tears she put it down, with quiet tears, no sound.
She went back to her corner, her little room, laid back in her bed.
His picture fell abruptly clattering on the table beside. She closed her eyes wishing, wishing the calendar lied. The unmarked days she wanted them to be a mirage to be a hallucination. It wasn't the case.

She turned over then over again safe in her world she wasn't. Love was the end this is all she thought. Love was the end nothing else mattered. To die was her end she chose with decision and die she did slowly and lonely that's all she could do in a world renewing itself without her.