She does not live here anymore

My girlfriend and I had lived together for three years. It started a great new adventure. Gradually, it went downhill. Not quickly, it was a slow descent from the giddy heights of pure love. Gradually it became pure hatred. We could not stand the sight of each other. We would have a meal together in the kitchen at night; we had agreed to be polite to each other at night during our dinner. But after washing up and putting away the dishes, we went our separate ways. She went to her bedroom, and I went to the living room to read, watch TV, and eventually retire to my cold bed.

I had no idea what she did; she might have even gone out. But I did not care. At least so I thought.

One night over dinner up came the subject of moving out. She had announced that she was leaving in two weeks. ‘I have found a flat in Market Street, and I move in, in two weeks. I will miss our dinner when we chat, but you can come around some evenings for dinner and I will cook.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied ‘that would be very nice to see you again. But you can come around here too for dinner.’

In two weeks, she moved out, and I was left by myself. At first, it was great. I enjoyed myself. Until one night, there was a knock at the door. I opened the door to this stranger. ‘Is Jane here? I have come around to see her.’

‘I am sorry, I replied, ‘she does not live here anymore,’ I replied.

‘That is okay. I can phone Jane. Thank you.’

I shut the door after he had gone and cried how I missed Jane.