The mud caked my fingernails.
My hair slipped from inside my hood,
blowing across my face.
The wind shifted the leaves on the ground—
a collage of yellow, red, and brown—
and the earth crawled around me.
The rain fell hard
and the wet grass grabbed at my ankles.
The hole I dug with my own two hands
was between two trees where you and I
used to sit and talk about superheroes,
videogames and high school bullies.
I thought the location fit.
I pulled from my coat pocket
the heart necklace you gave me
the year before you said goodbye
and drove off, leaving skid marks
on the vacant street.
I dropped my heart into the hole
and buried it.
As I walked away,
the rain still pouring,
I picked the mud from inside my fingernails.