I measure it in
the turn signals that I hear
until your goodbye.
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"If Walls Could Talk"
The only constant in my repetitious life was my bluish-green friend; to clarify, my reddish-brown friend turned bluish-green friend. I admired the way she held her frame erect, her face unapologetically unsmiling, her torch forcefully pointed to the heavens. Our friendship endured countless years in quiet understanding, me always talking and her always listening. They named me “Wall,” her “Liberty,” and the space between us “Window.” But, their names and faces frequently changed.
By Jenna Hixson3 years ago in Fiction
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