Untitled 38,912 (actually more like 5, wish I was more productive)

by

by Ari Collins

After the bars kick her out, as she lays in bed with the hangover already starting, with the nightlife over and the birds not yet calling out “my tree, my tree,” the between time is so quiet you hear conversations blocks, maybe even miles away. Sometimes, just before sleep defeats her, she thinks she hears him say, “I miss you. Please come back.” In this brief window of absolute quiet, the night becomes an ocean, and she wishes she could sing like a whale, cover the many miles that separate them and answer, “No.”

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2 Responses to “Untitled 38,912 (actually more like 5, wish I was more productive)”

  1. Sebatinsky Says:

    I like this. It was clever to use the language of romance to lead to her refutation.

  2. aricollins Says:

    I was going for a dissonance there, but I wasn’t thinking of it in EXACTLY those terms. Good call.

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