squares and streets

I was standing in a sea of brown squares and empty walls.
When did all the scraps and pieces get pushed into those cold boxes? Like they meant nothing – were all the same – they threw her things in cartons and sealed them from the daylight. The thought that her books, her brushes, but never her would see these walls; it spread out in my mind, circling in my head it fell to my stomach.
I cut open the brown tape; reached in; put things in their new place. Again and again.
I remember thinking how everyone always says new beginnings were exciting. And yes, there were new streets and webs to get lost in and tiny cafés to breath in and people to see with, but grief has the great power to overshadow those bits of magic I could find in the streets I saw laying empty before me.

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