Hey guys, look who is back. :3

This is just a short, kind of depressive drabble.
I'd like to see who do you think it is speaking, ok? This is why you won't see any names.
Unbetaed, so please point out any ugly sentences and such.

What do you think of this one?

Let me know.


Tomorrow will be a month she left. Oh, no, my dear is out of home.

But to be true I hadn't missed her presence at the first day of it all.

It was good not to be inquired about eventual late hours outside. Her absence wasn't noted a week after: the extra put dish, glances of her face at the mirror as she put on the make-up, the wipes that held the excess of it still over the drawer.

As the days passed, the breakfast didn't come to bed. The coffee began to go cold and the colors of the décor gradually died. The news of your loss came little by little: the newspaper's pile at the door, nobody bothered to go over them and lock them under the stairs right after. The house became once again grave-silent, not even the few birds outside sang anymore.

Not that I still heard them anyway.

Not to show myself as weak, my lady, I had gone to drink with friends. Sometime in the night they would go back to wherever they lived, though.

I was missing the little arguments over how much salt you would put on the salad – just my way to take care of you. Would it be by any means my "official missing you", my dear? Your flowers and condiment plants had withered as I didn't pay them water - or attention for that matter.

The buttons of my ripped out shirts. Oh, yes, that ones you were so excited to yank out just to fix them some time later.

They won't fix themselves.

Where the hell is the corkscrew? None of us knows, without you come and talk to everybody: the angry mouths chew it all away, doesn't them? Don't they love to talk?

Come back home, my lady, please. Come back home.