A Scratch

"You've always said that loneliness is inevitable." She looks at me, confused.
She seems disappointed, as if she can see how dusty she is.
"Well, it is, my dear." I tell.
Maybe to me, maybe to her.
She's sipping her coffee.
It's the rough kind, she's always been tough like that.
No milk or sugar. No expression whatsoever.
You might mistake her for one that understands, but she knows nothing.
I used to think she has a mind of her own, but it feels to me like time to acknowledge that beyond her bored face there is nothing but thin air.
I look at her belongings, they're packed perfectly. I don't know which of us is being set free.
"It's still.
It's still an alone for me, but a better one." I think to myself.
She packed her bags in the straightest lines, with no ribbons. No colors whatsoever.
She's leaving and I don't know where.
Her shoes are on, but they make no sound, hitting the wooden floor.
"It's still." I think again.
Another one is gone, for good.
"It's still." It sounds like a light flow of water, calming me down, putting me to sleep.