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Things you can do with time travel and a brown paper bag
Your ex-girlfriend has been diagnosed with something that she has probably had for ages but with such mysterious symptoms it's hard to know. Small creatures are shifting inside her. The thing about small creatures is that you either kill them or they grow. There is discomfort. There is breathing in and out of paper bags. There is the smell of bread and the sound of blood and you are remembering her in a brown silk dress, with a donkey eating from her hands. You are remembering the way she piggybacked you to the university doctor when you had the flu. You are remembering how needles were recreational, and the way you could stitch anything together. And you cannot bear all the stumblings of her body combined with the sweetness of her hair. You say you're sorry because maybe if you had known then, you'd never have left her. You could have collected her sickness into the bag, folded it and sewn it shut, and left it on the next departing container ship to implode somewhere in the dark Pacific. You could have. Maybe you still should.
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