Photo by Hannah Blair

By Jennifer Prewitt

It’s been, what? Five months? And the time before that, even longer. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. The city is big. Loud. The people are nice. Kind of like you. They’re loud, too. Just like their home. It feels small, sometimes. Four days in a row, I saw the same person in my train car. The only difference is I didn’t know their family. Or which dirt road their house was on. Ha, a dirt road here. No way. No dust. Invisible obstacles block my view instead. My dreams are here, but when I’m asleep, I think of you. You know I can’t return. And you can’t leave. I hate to ask for favors, but I’ll only do it this one time – Write me back, telling me a story I already know. XX


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