You will find the body after I’ve had tea and fed the cats. It will be covered in roses, just as he liked, but by now, I’m sure his blood would’ve drenched the flowers red, just as I like.
You will find his eyes in the freezer, his nails in the library, and his purple lips under his white pillow.
If you are ever filled with rage or the urge to find me, know that I have not run away. I am where I have always been, in the little hut where the green stream ends, where he washed my body last winter and froze the waters red.
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