You take her to the rooftop garden, lock the door, and live there.
She pets plants. You watch her eat. The city gets hungrier and further away.
SayaYou're not a monster. Nobody is a monster. There isn't a category.
She says it in a practised tone, and you accept it, because the alternative is standing up.
The greenhouse has one broken pane and a mattress on the floor, and you stop counting which night is which.
She is the only body that stays right, and you use it the way people use a light in a dark room.
The garden grows. Nothing about this is love, and it is still the warmest thing you own.