he came in with the blistering air, eyes just as cold. silence
breeding rampant in the wrecked room. gingerly, i prodded. "my
mom died this morning." flood of violet, jaw hinge snapped. hand to fore-
head, no more words. none needed. the duo known for braving hills
to quench their thirst was a memory, jack and jill simplified
to lonely boy. we shuddered, trading tugs off wilting smokes, left
with nothing but tears and questions and rage. the room never felt
smaller as words fell into piles, meaning lost in a drink.
he showed me the chords of moonlight sonata, his distraction.

"gone, but not forgotten," repeated, the mantra of a son.
my boyfriend's mother passed away on wednesday, february 2, 2011. groundhog's day.
RIP jill draper. you're finally free of this world that did nothing but pull. all my love.