The moving van drove up last night, took away the boxes that sat on her front steps. The red hearts she buried in the snow kept flashing as they drove away and I wondered how they could forget such a thing. But then maybe they don't want to. Forget, that is.
Will her friends return when the April snow melts? Or in a year to mark the anniversary of all I can't comprehend? Meanwhile, the hearts beat red through my windows night and day, tricking the eye as I sit in my sun-room across the way writing words I don't understand just yet.