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  • "I'm going out for a drive," you said.
    "I need some time to think, I'll be back."
    But you never came back.
    Then minutes later, a text about your ex
    and you going to a hotel and needing space.

    Then I was alone in a cold Airbnb
    with an empty bed and fleece blankets.
    The words, "I'll be back" kept running
    through my head like an instructional mantra,
    but it feels as though you'll be gone
    forever- the way the door closed

    behind you with such solidity,
    the way you slung your backpack
    over your shoulder that carried
    everything you'd need for an eternity
    of traveling light.

    Your worn and unworn clothes piled
    on the floor near the bed, your bag
    of toiletries still on the bathroom counter.
    The cavernous shower with two heads
    now dry and cold as a cave for spelunking.

    But like the weather front the radio
    reports, they warn is on its way
    with its switchblades of wind and
    ice, I know you're driving your rental
    car south into the storm and our lives
    and hearts have minds of their own.
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