She sits on the plush, velvet
cushion of the sofa.
Her arms resting at her
sides. An open window emits
a sweet wind that rolls through the room. She watches him pace,
hands fisted in his pockets.
He pauses and stares at her.

Late at night, her mother would
tell her stories…
long ago, we existed as One,
and the Gods grew angry,
splitting us in half.

Neither speaks.
Books clutter the coffee table-
Their pages untouched.
He walks over to the window and
shuts it softly,
wiping the dust,
clinging to the sill,
off with his hands.
The floral print on the wallpaper
curls around them.