It is as if I have died this morning.

It was painless, almost unnoticeable to the untrained eyed.

But I knew.

The one who got out of bed and ran to the coffee machine

didn’t want to read, write, stay inside and brood,

over the meaning of existence.

She was thinking of pretty clothes and flowers

Newly popped on bare branches.

She wanted to wear dangling earrings

and work with her hands.

She had never cried for no reason at all,

and her face will clearly not wrinkle in a sad and angry expression.

This woman seems to have some knowledge

that I cannot access.

And for that

I hate her

and I want her gone.