My Cardboard Balcony

Terminus by Belinda Roddie This shouldn't end now, but somehow, I imagine the stars that fall out of the sky will burn up like calligraphy on dry paper before landing. The flakes of ash will settle just in front of your face, though your lips will still sting, and the kisses will still feel permanently stained.

"How many bags do you need, sweetie?" "Oh. Uh...three, I guess?" She handed me three reusable bags, all green, and I hoisted them into the passenger's seat before settling into my beaten down sedan and driving to the grocery store. The sheet that my mom had given to me was pretty lengthy - she wanted at least three kinds of beans and several jars of olives. And that was just the beginning of the list.