We found a box filled with candles, rose petals, voodoo dolls, cigarettes, lipsticks, torn shoes, laces, white ribbons, recorded cassettes, Santana cassettes, and a Barbra Streisand vinyl record with the world "revival" scratched on it. There were also sweets and bread with green fungi snowed on top of it.
There were no traces of animal skins in the peripherals. Perhaps the guilt belonged to an angry teen, or a middle aged housewife dealing with divorse. We made many hypothesis about this occurrence but none satisfied our inquiries. This happened near the end of our relationship, and for some reason became one of the most important events in these past three years.
I don't believe in God, but rather in the crossing of time and the recovery of identity.
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