The snow fell in April, plump flakes graced my eyelashes and I was beautiful - Aphrodite and Mona Lisa combined - filled with mystical powers. It was then I knew you deceived me as I felt magic in my eyes. I put sugar in your coffee that morning, accidentally on purpose, which you didn't notice because that's what she does.

April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring? My ring, purity you pledged to me, anchored itself in the drain pipes, and I ceased caring if it ever came out. When we are all gone and only the roaches crawl in and out of earth's desiccated remains, the diamond will shine for them, the future pilgrims.

By June, the sun shone only at midnight , and I looked for what I'd lost. Instead I found a pair of your shoes under the bed, forgotten. I don't know why you ran to her and from me, but you forgot your Adidas. You should have known that mythical creatures lose powers when they neglect their unicorns, and knights can't travel without their horses.

Earthquakes in the Arctic Circle chucked icebergs into the oceans, spilling over land and into my lap. I chiseled the pieces and plopped them in my lemonade. Salt mixes well with sugar and lemons; I added food coloring so it would be pink, match my eyes, my new home, my carpet and drapes. Independence Day added bright color, however temporary.

Storms raged in August, and the lightning slammed through my heart with vengeance. I watched the apartment from across the street, that used to be ours, now yours and hers. I watched as you both scrubbed the sidewalk, with bleach and disinfectant. The blood was from a chicken I raised myself.

Swarms of fireflies attacked in September, odd little creatures. A group of us sat on the stoop catching them by handfuls. We separated illuminated bodies from their wings and smeared lumen on our faces, fluorescent warpaints of love. After dark, passing cars could see neon smiley faces peering at them from stairwells and hear the mourning cries of banshees wailing at season's end.

I always wanted to ask, just to watch your face as you tried to answer: Who is Bathsheba? And why did you kill for her? But of course, it's rhetorical.

ab