I grab her hand as she runs out the door, her many rings pushing against my fingers. She pauses for an instant and I kiss her neck, so I don't mess up her makeup. Her perfume is strongest on her collarbone, and as we embrace I am wrapped in it.

We pull away from each other. As she pulls the door shut with her perfect army green nails, she lifts a perfect blond eyebrow and smiles a tiny smile that shows off her deep red lipstick.

Prolonged goodbyes aren't her style, and they aren't my favorite either.

From the window I watch her start her black car and drive away, a faint ghost of steamy exhaust dances behind her car's tail pipe, seeming to roll in a spiral to its disappearing death.

I walk back to the kitchen to load empty wine glasses and deep green dinner plates into the dishwasher.

The room seems to hang with empty space, the hole where she belongs is carved into the oxygen. The air cries for her to come back, longing for the one that makes it whole.