something in her was crumbling. she would stand on the sidewalk under a blaze of sun and watch common blackbirds flit like locusts or swarms of bees from treetop to treetop, their wings obsidian in the glare of light. she shuddered at their tiny feet clinging to the fronds of palm trees, like aphids on a dandelion, clusters of eyes flashing. while they moved, something in her split and scattered. was it that her heart was breaking or simply forgetting. news days traced into her thighs, the underside of her wrists, so that some memories become undecipherable yet remain. she tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans and touched the tops of her thighs through the thin fabric. all this flesh and no pleasure from it. she laughed. there was nothing to regret, nothing to remember. if she was sad it was because she was not happy. the #2 bus lumbered up to the curb and she looked inside the window before boarding and it seemed that the whole interior had been transformed into a florist's shop - gathered at the feet of a woman sitting in the front were two carts full fresh cut flowers, blooms bursting. aurora edged around the bright bouquets, heading towards the back of the bus, and as she passed she smiled, struck by this surprise of color on a dry and gusty afternoon. carnations, roses, and daisies spilling their beauty onto the center aisle of the bus, sweeping over her.