Claire

You are long and tall and sliver thin. Appeared one day unannounced. As surely you will disappear one day soon.

It will start like any other day. The morning will  be neither too hot nor too cold. I will leave the house not too early and not too late. I will park, buy coffee and walk the cobblestones to front door of the building.

The foyer will seem darker than usual, though the outside light will be unremarkable for this hour of the day. It will seem quieter in a way that I can’t quite identify. And as I wait for the elevator ‘s regular slowness, I will realize that you are gone.

Not a trace of you left behind.

I will try to remember what ear you tucked your hair behind as you walked the halls so fluid and soundless and smooth; the shape of your words, their texture as they formed on your lips; the way your palm felt as we shook hands.

“Claire,” you said.

But strive as I might, I will not be able to remember one single thing.

And standing alone in the elevator slowly making its way to the fourth floor, I will begin to suspect that perhaps you were never really here at all.