one october
eight : eleven p.m.

the last few things: silk scarves, an old notebook, tiny box full of ashes; all packedupquickly / idontwanttothinkaboutthis in a paper shopping bag. and then it was (i'm never good at this) goodbye to this place and this boy and off to a new home over the bridge. it is cold in here, and though he is often around to keep me warm, i'm not quite used to so much space and silence.