The loneliness of coming home

She comes home from a long day at work to an empty flat, every night. She hangs her keys on the nail on the wall to the left of the front door and sighs. She stands in the dark for a second, the only light illuminating her flat comes from the window at the end of the corridor. She turns the light on, but she’s been here long enough to know that no amount of light or heat will ever make the feeling of cold disappear. She takes her heels off, replaces them with blue fluffy slippers and start walking towards the kitchen. As she opens the fridge she suddenly remembers that she forgot to pass by Sainsbury’s to grab dinner, “Shoot” she mutters to herself as she stares at her almost empty fridge. She is not home often, which is why her dinners mostly consist of a salad or pasta she picks up on her way from work. She has often thought about changing her ways, finally bringing some healthy structure back into her life, but it’s been months now and she seems to be stuck in this damned routine.She likes to excuse this behaviour by telling herself that she is too busy with work to put effort into anything else, but the truth is that every corner of this flat reminds her of the emptiness he has left behind, and that is something she would rather avoid as much as possible.

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