She left, but did she really?

I loved her like any recluse could love another, by keeping her all to myself—and when she drifted away, I became the bearer, witness, and consoler all at once.

When I separated from the woman whom I in all likelihood would have married if we’d only been together for a couple of more months or so, the first person I considered talking to was my former landlady. A petite and extremely agile woman who no one would guess was approaching her sixties, except for when she’d pull her mobile phone close and squint when trying to locate the translator app every time she dropped by to offer me fruits or whatnot, she was among the very few who had seen me in a couple with the departed.