a story of yearning, pride, and those who are left behind, by Alice Towey:
I found your red cardigan.
It’s the one you love, with the tiny metallic buttons and the sleeves that don’t extend past your elbows. You call it your French sweater, because it makes you feel like a Parisian. I always thought it was silly, a sweater that doesn’t cover your arms.
It was too late to tell you I’d found it. By the time I saw it, a flash of cardinal crumpled at the bottom of the hamper, you were already leaving Earth’s orbit.
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