It was while standing at the kitchen counter first thing this morning, pouring water into the coffee pot and still mostly asleep, that I glanced up and spotted the open door.
And I remembered: She's gone again.
After weeks of being mostly here, of holidays and work days and carpools and visits to the library and sharing chores and bumping into each other in the kitchen ... now she's mostly gone.
If I step through the door, I'll still see her things filling the room, but the piles are gone, all stuffed back into the large green suitcase, the collapsible hamper, the plastic bags and other containers that filled the trunk and backseat of my car yesterday and were deposited back into her other room, also still filled with her things.
And with a hug, kiss, "Have a good semester! I love you!" that's also where I left her.
Today, she's mostly gone. Again.
But not totally. And not far away.