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The picture I always said would hurt when she left is now a forgotten memory at the bottom of a box. Everything that was us, she placed in there. Without so much of a second look she tossed those memories into the hole with me. She picked up her shovel and started filling in the dirt, done with me, done with her past. Never breaking a sweat she finished, leaving me there to look after her as she started to leave. Within a few steps he was already at her side, and arm in arm they went. My children staying, not wanting to leave. She called them though, and through obedience they left, but were the only ones looking back.
