the silent archives

The next morning she resembled the day before only slightly, wearing the coat they bought together. She woke, showered, packed her bag, picked up her phone and stepped outside in the cold as always. She walked, holding memories of Madrid, memories of the week inside her, picking a few to look at during her walk. She walked into the bakery, ordered the eggs and bagel, a breakfast so vastly different from those of the last week. She stood in line, paid and walked out.

So much had happened, and the archives were preserved solely inside them, walking in different hemispheres.