She spent days and days sitting on the same chair. Just getting up to take some food from the cupboard and to go to her bed. She would always stare at somewhere far away from there, somewhere between her and the floor. Never talked, never smiled. One day, she opened her mouth. 'I'm leaving'. And she left. Later I would miss her a bit. Or I would just remember the way she stared at the floor, and tell someone that once I lived with a girl who had a plant's life. She must be travelling to the sun now. Maybe she'll meet the Petit Prince on the way there, and that'll make it easier for her to stand high temperatures.
I'm still under the effects of the coldest farewell ever.
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