She asked me to tell her three interesting things about myself.
Those were her first words to me, which were
half true interest and half protection of her friend.
I told her I killed a man, to shut her up, but she held on.
This week, we folded up her couch and disposed of it.
The bed she had built in her room could no longer be removed.
We had to dismantle it to get it out
of her apartment and New Jersey.
The rest of it went in bags and memories and were left unlabeled
perhaps never to be found again.
She said, in my arms, “it was nice knowing you.”
I hesitated, and replied simply, “you too.”
On The Verge of Tears 