Gallery
I bring back photos of my dreams--a crumbling well, a four-winged bird, a city made of glass. I find them in my phone the next morning. It's always been this way.
You were the only person I told. I remember that Sunday afternoon, when you scrolled through your pictures and showed me your friends. My heart was a chambered round. It was coming. But that's how I knew you were the one: when I showed you the photos of the red-sand beach, where people tall as houses and slender as storks play their games with sticks and dice, you only sighed and whispered, Show me more.
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After our final winter together, I buried my secret with you. It's not that I don't want to tell anyone else, but you must understand. There are certain risks that come with baring the heart. Nobody can look at my photos now, not even me.
I only dream of how you died.
The End
This story was first published on Thursday, March 5th, 2015
We hope you enjoyed
Gallery by
KJ Kabza.
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