“3,000 Days” [by Erika Moya]

3,000 Days

After three thousand days we stopped loving. 
It left quietly, before the first blue in the sky,
while one could still see stars and long shadows. 
It walked barefoot across the moonlit floor admiring its
feet, 
holding a pair of shoes in one hand and an old toothbrush in
the other.
It tried to look back but the thought of salt was too
great.  When it
       reached the door,
it shut its eyes going back to minutes prior, with you in
bed and your
       quiet breath.
It tried to memorize your lashes and the creases in your
lips, each
       a mini-wrinkle.
It wanted more time but knew that more time was not an
option.
It did not close the door entirely for fear of making noise,
so
       that forever
after we stopped loving, everything was framed in the sullen
violet
of almost morning. 
Almost something that was not enough.

— Erika Moya