In deep midwinter, the little old lady next door to me died.
I suspected it had happened but couldn't find anyone who could confirm it or tell me how it happened. At last, there was a death notice in the paper. The funeral was already done.
Now I can spend summer evenings on the balcony without anyone peeking in from the next balcony to coax me into a chat I don't feel like having. Now I won't be late for appointments because I was held up by the elevator by a lonely little lady talking about her aches and pains.
I feel a little colder, a little more lonely, a bit like bursting into tears.
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