Iggy,

I broke into the old apartment... this is where we used to live... Me and you, Iggy. Broken glass sprayed across the floor reminds me of all the years, broke and hungry, breaking hearts and breaking bones. Good times... I smile as I look at it.

This is where we used to live. I think to myself. I look up again and look around. The walls are a different color. Why did you paint them? Why did you clean the floor? I look over to the door, still holding the doorknob I just broke to get in. There's plaster over the hole I punched in it that time we both got shitfaced and the first time we kissed.

This is where we used to live. I look from the broken mousetrap to the dishrag with my initials on it. Why did you keep these things, Iggy? I look back down on to the mousetrap and pick it up, remembering the time you saw the mouse in the bathroom and ran out of the shower, completely naked, screaming for me to kill it. I laugh. I pick it up and walk to the kitchenette, grabbing the dishrag. It's a little more faded, but my initials are still bright red, as if preserved. Did you preserve them? I clutch them both in my hand. These things used to be mine. I guess they still are. I want them back.

I broke into the old apartment. 42 stairs from the street. I counted with you, remember? So that when we came upstairs from one of Francis's parties we could go to the right room. Crooked landing, crooked landlord, crooked laneway filled with crooks... So many memories flood at me as I stand on the balcony looking down to allyway that held the drug dealers and gangfights we could hear everynight as we lay in bed.

This is where we used to live. I continue looking off the balcony to the lawn. Well, it used to be a lawn. Looks like the landlord paved it over for parking lots. A lot has changed, including the locks. I turn around and walk back inside, grabbing the doorhandel that was just dangling from the door and suddenly get angry. Why did I have to break in, Iggy? I only came here to talk.

This is where we used to live. How is the neighbor downstairs? Francis, right? How is his temper this year? I laugh as I turn up the TV and stomp on the floor just for fun. Just to piss him off like we used to. Just to hear him run up the stairs and bang on our door, screaming in French as we laughed our asses off together. I flop down on the couch that still smells like you and sigh...

I know we don't live here anymore... Well, I don't. Not after we broke up... I met Mattie. I left you, didn't I? Mattie and I live together now... We bought and old house on the Danforth. He loves me and his body keeps me warm... I'm happy there.

But this is where we used to live... I broke into the old apartment. I tore the phone out of the wall. Only memories, fading memories, blending in to dull tableux. I want them back...

I look around the apartment one more time before sliding the door open and leaving. As I walk down the stairs and to my car, I think of all the good times we shared here, together.

I want them back...