They built a house with a white picket fence, with big dogs, big love, and all the trappings of romance. But she spent her nights pulling up the floorboards digging for corpses and whatever scent of remorse she could find. But digging in the past got everything dirty; it stained their curtains and their sheets. It clung to their feet and tracked around their lives so much so that they forgot the color of the carpet. And he was all the more defeated when they life they built became covered in mud, of what was and what wouldn’t ever happen again.