I come home to dust, the ghostly faces I traveled with for so long, they cling to me, the empty space where they had been, thick with dust and regret, the trail of their passing a dusty imprint, their hurried retreat, their flight before my return, like so many thieves, absconding with possessions we previously shared, the memories of joy and anguish, leaving only the dust in their wake, for me to disturb again at my return, without broom or dust pan to clean up after them.
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