i break the silence in two. one half i put in her mouth, the other tucked under the pillow. in the morning i find rumpled sheets and petals from a flower i do not understand. she walks out of a room, the curtains hold back an angry sun. i cannot to bear to follow her down stairs that creak into forgetting. i rub my eyes to find grains of sand stitched into the corners. above me the ceiling sags and buckles while the walls bulge outward into the cold. the apartments below squeal with television sets that have never been turned off. i imagine her unlocking the door, a series of clattering metal tumblers and a knob that’s been loosened. my jaw sets itself against numb lips as the wind breaks through the window.