The only thing left was a string of dishes that were left in the dusty sink; some of the plates were chipped and others looked brand-new, catalogue perfect.  When he went to the room he thought he would find her, sitting there, and expected that she’d even be singing along to a song.  But she wasn’t, and he could tell that she hadn’t been there for a while, no one had, and he knew he was much too late.  Maybe he’d have another chance, better luck on another day, but he doubted it deep inside.  For where and when would he even start?


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