Half-built

We climbed up in that half-built house after we fought, after I refused to go on the roof of your house. It was night and the half-built house had no door. There was an unplaced bathtub in the foyer. The steps were jagged gaps, the walls faint structures, only seen with imagination. On the second floor we walked toward the back and looked at a tree above a mound of concrete and dirt. Its branches blurred into the night sky.

We walked through windowless windows and sat on the tiny slanted roof built only as facade, or perhaps a cover for the non-existent porch below. I cried. We could view the park from where we sat, off to our left.

Then we said nice things, unspecifically remembered, and we climbed back inside. Leaning on a beam for an unformed wall we both felt a ghost and left, never speaking of its presence again.