Our fingerprints since dusted from the blinds.

12:35am.

The windowsill and the carpets are musty. But our skin will not collect the same dust. Far beyond the hall there are bedrooms we don't remember. And while we shake the curtains and watch the dust clouds rise, it's easy to remember feeling good, but we look at each other like it will always be just a memory.















Yours,
JARET.

Quietly in the house we wait.

2:58pm.

Something a little like what panic used to be creeps into our arms and eyes, but it's not panic at all. The truth is, we haven't been stirred so much lately. In what seems like an age.















Yours,
JARET.