She and I will go on dates masquerading as friends and confess the things we save for falling stars. I am enamored with leaving our hometown, and the more I speak to such a life, such possibilities, the more I witness the image I saved for her unravel across from me. I will receive an acceptance letter in the mail. I will leave. I will never see her again.
“Something’s wrong,” he whispered, laying the bird down on the table. It slid out of his palms, its head bending backwards so the nape of
And here I am. I’ve created something entirely fictional in my head, writhed the words and tales until the person who’s sitting in front of
First (she raises her left eyebrow a fraction upwards, the arch causing wrinkles to appear across her forehead) – suspend belief for a moment –
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