I had had second thoughts every single day of the month. You came or called once or twice a week to arrange some of the divorce papers, but I could hear your voice, and I knew you, I had been with you for a long time. And I knew it was painful for you, it was painful for me. We sat in the dinning table, on opposite sides, handing over papers, sigining documents, getting everything in order. You parked your car in a nearby street, you knocked, and you entered the house that was once yours.

But that day, you were dressed different. You had combed your hair, and you were wearing a brown vest. You stayed, we talked, about life and other things usually found in normal conversations. You stayed that night, and for a moment, I forgot you weren't there, I closed my eyes, and wished to see you there when I woke up, but at 5:30 I opened my eyes, and you were gone.