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Time slipped away
We knew, had known, will know
She had years, then months then days, then none.
She went first
Skipped into death like she had been waiting for it all her life and I suppose in some ways she had,
I couldn’t handle it
I sold the business, the house, the car, I lived out of my backpack She loved books so I hitchhiked from library to library always picking up ones we loved. Then we’d sit down at one of the tables, two old coots living out of a beat-up red backpack and read and talk about everything
We got some odd glances often funny stares. I didn’t care I had my beloved back then I’d come back to myself and realize that I was once again just a lonely old man talking to an empty chair
Then I’d pick up that old red backpack once more and search for her in the next dusty corner of the next dusty library in the next dusty town