The fullness of evening tends to weigh on me, like the invisible boulder I secretly carry on my back. I try to exist normally, but it presses down and crushes me. I’m not very good at pretending there’s nothing on my back at all, or that the darkness creeping through my windows is welcomed.
You’re not supposed to be here. I rub my heavy eyes and peer out the window to the dull sky. It seems darker than usual for the time of day. Perhaps even the sun is tired and wants to lie down sooner than it should.
The sound of Anachronism plays in the back of my head on an unresolved loop: I could be the fire inside of your collapsing home. I could be the storm that tears down everything you hold.
And it’s so quiet. It is so fucking quiet, even as the sirens pass and the neighbors laugh. Continue reading
Terrah Holly Writes 