She packed her bags, quietly. She left in the dead of night, never the one for dramatic exits. I can't say I was surprised. Her hair ribbon is on the dresser. She always leaves something, for next time. It isn't saying goodbye, not really, but it's comforting all the same. It means the pattern will continue. Loving, leaving, self destructing, self medicating, and coming back again. Cruel, but always the same-it means she will come back to me again someday. She left last night again, without saying goodbye. She never says goodbye. It's this rule she has-saying goodbye makes it permanent. Saying goodbye is messy. And so we never said goodbye, her and I.