“Leave me alone!” I shout into the darkness. My sister’s shadow leaps from the wallpaper into the bed we used to share. I can’t let her go.
When I eat clementines I see that time in your bed when you fed me by hand, slowly. To think I broke it off with you through text message.
He repeated his name for her, but she simply stared ahead, motionless. He watched their past disintegrate behind her eyes.
Grandma got run over by a bus and I can’t stop thinking about that stupid song.
He entered the gym in just his vest and pants. The PE teacher called the nursing home. The ex-pupil had forgotten more than just his PE kit.
They told the little ones stories. “Four seasons,” they say, “we had four seasons.” Their little eyes marvel at the dream of spring.