We put our mattresses on the roof and sneezed into each others' hands; murmuring, "I'm sorry and I love you, I'm sorry and I love you." They slid off in the morning while we slept on them--the mattresses--and we crashed into the garbage bins a story down. They were right, we were trash all along. We woke up as splinters and fragments, next to splinters and fragments, with only splinters and fragments to say. The lid slammed shut over us and I traced it with my fingers, and told her how I feel better in the dark anyway. We both felt better in the dark anyway.