Author's note: Last bit, I swear.
I feel like my insides are being ripped out. They are. Walls inside me are being knocked down, windows on the outside replaced, I am washed, scoured and repainted, and I don't know what is happening but it is nerve wracking feeling so abused after so many year of almost emptiness. There's a constant stream of people, in and out, all day long. I hear words, often repeated. Beautification project. Renovation. Apartments. I can take a guess at what all this means, but I am already fabulous, what are they doing to me?
It takes longer than they planned, and costs more as well. But they have finished giving me whatever makeover they thought I needed. I do feel better. The whole street looks better, I am not the only one who has been forced to undergo this indignity. I have been too self-absorbed, in shock, to notice if he has come past. It has been another year. It's snowing again. This is how I count the time usually, with the changing of the seasons.
I'm not paying attention to the street, so when I hear his voice, coming from somewhere inside me, my consciousness scatters before reforming. He's near the top, and at the front, looking out of a window down the street.
"You sure about this Kurt?"
"Definitely."
"It's not the safest of neighbourhoods you know…"
"I don't care. Anyway, I think that will all change in a few years. And we can afford this place. It's a blank slate, we can really make it our own. Put our mark on it."
"You mean your mark."
"No. I mean our mark."
When he moves in, standing imperiously outside my doors and directing people with boxes I can't help but feel happy. I will be seeing him everyday. Hearing him. He sings. They came and painted their apartment, and he sung pretty much the entire time. The other one smiles when he does, and hums along under his breath. There have been a lot of apartments being painted, and I know I am bias, but I like theirs the best.
They have sex quite often. They also argue. Then they have even more sex. I stay away then, try to give them some privacy, but the noises they make are distracting, and I can always hear them. He's finicky. And he spends much longer in the bathroom. Every new thing i discover just endears him to me more. The hours he comes and goes are odd, always changing. I can tell when he's running late because the other paces before giving in and calling him. It's nice to know someone else worries about him.
They've been living here for three full changes of the seasons when it happens. He doesn't come home. They have always been together before. Always. Both of them there for the night, or neither of them, and I try not to be jealous of wherever they go when they're not staying with me. Tonight though, he isn't here. I'd panic, except for the fact that the other one is walking around. Calmly. I need to wait it out.
I don't need to wait long. Just the next day the other one dresses in a full suit, and he looks very smart. He'd look smarter if he could tie his tie properly, and I amuse myself by watching him try to tie it several times before he swears and shoves it in his pocket. I don't think he would be impressed. He leaves the building looking nervous but happy.
They're both back that afternoon, with many others, and there is one person with a camera, continually taking photos as he and all the others strike more and more ridiculous poses against the front of me. Then it is just the two of them, kissing each other like they did however many seasons ago, followed by catcalls and whistling, and the clicking sound of a camera. Then they are throwing fake snow at them, it showers all over them, being caught by the wind and dances around them. It's snowing, and it's warm.
