The first time I photographed her in the window we were still together.
When she wasn’t home, I photographed her coffee cup, her bathrobe, her shower slippers and her bottles of fragrance. I knew they would leave with her.
She also had useless things. I photographed these, too.
The wonderful postcards she bought in Paris. When she left, she suggested we divide them. I photographed them all.
I didn’t take pictures of the chevre or the brie.
She packed on New Year’s Day. I helped her pack.
When she left, I employed a model. I photographed her in a red hat.
Later, my friends, my sister, and my brother arrived. I photographed them all.
Father and mother arrived last. I took their pictures, too.
The next day the movers came.
I left the petting candle there, and went away.