I can already tell. I lost a lovely smile somewhere and many colors dropped out.

There was lots of talk that month, about what would happen, or how good it would be, if…and then there was always the something that needed to change. That’s how these things usually go. A person. A location. A move to another city. The meals we should, instead, be preparing. The move, now just a trip to Brooklyn in the spring.

Outside, the sound of trains being put together. It’s not so far from here. You can hear the echo of the steel meeting, the heavy jostle falling through the trees, hammering down the street and then finally it’s here, right here, how can it be? inside the walls of the house.

The glass door knob, like a gem stone, falls out on the other side of the shut door, leaving you astonish, yet again. You listen as it rolls, like something lethargic and spoiled, inside on the hardwood. You are standing there, do you understand? in the dark, a heavy glass bulb in the palm of your hand, a threaded stem extended out, aiming at what is now only a vacancy. And you can suddenly imagine, in a different context maybe, being handed this same object and having no earthly idea what use or purpose it once served, admiring it only for its odd and misunderstood beauty. You can imagine lots of things.