Whistling stabs through the neighborhood.It repeats over and overAs if it were an echo of an echo.Who is the whistler?
Innocently. Playing.Splashing. Laughing.
Separated by glass and screen.I could see her.Her face, strained.Her smile, forced.I could hear her.Her voice cracking…
Alone. Truly alone.For the first time ever.The bus pulls away.There’s no going back.