Georgia

He is gone. She knows this. But it doesn’t feel right. She thinks this in her bed as she stares at her wall, her knees drawn to her chest, her hair pulled up in something like a ponytail. It’s not right without him. But he is gone. She doesn’t understand, she thinks this while she tries not to cry. She resists the stinging in the back of her eyes. Why did he leave her alone? Was he not happy? What was he not happy about? Why didn’t he tell her! She blinks. What is she to do? On a normal day, back when things were normal and she could be normal, she would sit in silence with him as he typed, or stared out the window, or painted a picture. She would sit with him outside when it rained and they would talk in silence. They would connect. Why did he leave her alone? He knew how it was. Why would he leave her? Why didn’t he leave her a reason?

“I have a problem,” he had said to her late at night. “I have a problem, but Georgia I’m going to fix it.”

He thought she had been asleep.