Gradually, as the days lengthened, she began to lose bits of herself to the city. A book here, a lunchbox there. Three dollars. A sports bra, a shoe. Things fell out of pockets, got left behind in bars and subway stations, at the gym or the library, abandoned in old friends' kitchens, new friends' backyards, and under the beds of temporary lovers.
She didn't miss the things, but sometimes she missed the people.
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