Lessons From the Kissing Booth

I returned to my bed on Saturday night, drunk and in pieces. Last night I woke in a room full of ghosts, reaching shallow colored hands across my bed, standing in dark pools in the corners.

So today I left the apartment to buy new sheets. On the sidewalk across the street I skirted around a sparrow laying on the ground. Fallen, attacked, or old, it was hard to say, but as I stepped past it the bird opened and closed its beak weakly, moved its foot.

Though the old sheets have been washed a few times since our breakup they still seemed to exhale some of Dream's smell when I pulled them off. I threw them out, immediately, although my fingers were reluctant to let go of the fabric. The new sheets smell sterile, and hopefully free of ghosts.