The sky is gray again. Maybe I could sleep all day. You’d think my hollow chest would allow me to float – somehow it’s drowning me in my own bedsheets. You’re with me wherever I go. On the leaves that trickle down on the wind. The click of heels on concrete, your red high heels you used to wear when you wanted to dress up and pretend we were rich. I can still feel you on my skin. Your warm cheek on my chest. Your bare stomach under my own. I curl into the blankets a little tighter, knowing I can’t let myself think of you anymore. But I’ve been trying to forget for months. Cigarette smoke drifts in through the window, and I feel my chest caving. I glance out the window at the waving red trees. The colors of fall inspired you. People walk by, their clothes drawn tight to them. There must be a storm coming. But a storm is already here.
Fiction inspired by The Lumineers’ Slow It Down.