aoife

Rode my bike past my ex-boyfriend's old house today, one block past Angel Wing drive, around a corner past the Nicewinters' house. there was a white van parked where my black Jeep used to park on late summer nights, slipping in the front door past the fishtank and into the bedroom, trying not to make noise.

There are teddy bears lining the top window now.

Passed my favorite makeout spot on the way, thinking about all the memories we never had there, going there instead with the wrong boy, trying to be alone but ending up haunted by things I'd never done right.

On my way home, a small boy smiled at me as he dug a grave for a dead squirrel.

"Ce que fait le fossoyeur devient riant, fait par l'enfant." -Victor Hugo, Les Miserables