She had never felt this lonely. She had no desires. She sat up on the bed. There was no one to ask after her. There was no one to tease her, hug, kiss her. The person who had done those things belonged to someone else now. There seemed no end to life. And even the loud noise from behind didn’t stir her. She knew that a framed photograph had fallen and the glass had shattered, and the frame had broken into pieces, and the photograph had fallen out, but a kind of anxiety had set up home in her and she had no desire to sort out the mess.
