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She sat at the table. Time passed quickly these years. Busy work stopped filling her time, and she began to think over other times, long ago. She wondered what he was doing, if he was as old and wrinkled as she had become.

Time marched so quickly. Time filled itself up for her over the decades. It told her she had so much to do, and she did all of those things. Now she sits at the table and wonders about another life.

She wonders about memories that never became memories.

She sees the wind on the leaves through the window and feels that wind as it must feel on her skin. She remembers sand between her toes with him and without him.

What must another day feel like? Where have they all gone, those who embraced her independence. Family has died or moved away; others remarried.

Where has all that time gone? Perhaps she would pick up the phone and call, but who might answer: a wife, children, grandchildren? What must he have become?

Her fingers drummed and she waited, and she continued to wait. Because she forgot about life and time long ago. And it was too late to remember.

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