Collector of Words (fiction)
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When I got back, the apartment looked the same, but she was gone. There was no note, but I could tell.
True to her word she hadn't taken anything. She had promised, more than once, that she would leave every book, every rough draft, every post-it note.
So, here is where I started figuring things out. Sometimes things just happen. Good, bad: hard to tell. It might take years for you to understand the how and the why.
You also can't lose paradise if you were never lucky enough to find it.