The bathroom is steamy, the mirrors fogged. I’m drying off when I see it. A large X on the medicine cabinet mirror. A loose circle surrounds it. Hastily scrawled, like
It's Sunday. A day for sleeping late. A day for not worrying about getting up. Or meetings. A day for no alarms save the morning sun peeking past my shades.
It’s been a while. Those whispers. More than a year. I’d kind of forgotten about them because the house has been…I don’t know. Not quiet, exactly. Acquiescent? There’s always a
I’m getting ready to leave. TV off, ceiling fans off. Windows, closed. It’s quiet on the third floor. I turn off the lamp in my office, the last light on the
Sign up for me weekly Newsletter.