11 Red Slippers
I am stupid. Whenever I think about how I lost you, guilt punches me in the stomach and I have to tell myself to breathe again, just breathe. It happens every day; sometimes once, sometimes repetitively like a song on constant repeat, niggling at my nerves. At times, I can convince myself it is our neighbour’s fault, for interfering, for believing I am crazy.
Our neighbour is a middle-aged man, who ‘worked’ from home, which actually means he watched his precious street like a child he couldn’t allow to grow up. He knocks on our door to find out why the rubbish bin hasn’t been taken in for five weeks. When I open the door a c***k, my eyes are squinting because they aren’t used to the sunlight. I haven’t been out since it happened. I have cooked meals for two, and one is a
