On Saturday morning, when I came downstairs, the jack-o’-lanterns in the front window had gone out.
Daylight fell over them, and all the glow from last night was gone. All that remained were a few crooked faces pressed near the glass, ugly in a way that felt much harder to romanticize, like whatever had happened after dark looked different once daylight touched it. I was only passing by, but my steps slowed anyway. The one on the far left was mine, its mouth clearly uneven, like it had started to smile and then suddenly remembered it was not supposed to.
In the daylight, it looked even more ridiculous than it had the night before.
More like a secret after it had been exposed.
I looked at it, and pieces of last night returned before I could push them away. Neil coming around the island,
