Today I crawled back to you on all fours, knocked hard until our old door gave way. In the dust sat the used furniture, turned upside down, and moth-eaten curtains that barely kept out the light.
You were there too, thick and portly now, having been feeding on the little things that used to eat through our wooden floors.
You did not know me. You hardly looked up when I called your name.
So, I closed the door and went back home.