In the middle of the night, ideas like to present themselves, so clearly worth remembering she always tries to force herself to hold them in her mind. She repeats them to herself, over and over, thinking that she really should turn on the light and write them down. But she never does; it would wake him up, or she would never sleep again. In the morning, nothing but the memory of the vision’s luster remains. She finds single words in the notepad function of her phone, one after another: Tears, stare, steer, trees, tease, seats. Still half asleep, she taps in four more: from, form. Text. Exit.
About Maria Porges
based in Oakland, CA, United States