the call of the city (between the dead and the living)


I have a habit of dreaming things into existence and though I couldn’t tell you how it works, I know that it does, because

I’ve watched it happen before my eyes.

But this time is different-

this time I am dreaming into existence a future for myself, one that takes place in a city between the dead and the living-

a place where something about the rain sends shivers down my spine

and I can finally feel the blood running through my veins and know that

I am

alive.

I exist in more than the no-name town I have grown to resent.

The familiarity is sickening; I need something more.

East village or Brooklyn, I would think.

Where my great grandmother spent her final years would be ideal, but I’ll take what I can get and

I can see you there.

I can see us there.

The blood in my veins is that of strong women who existed between the dead and the living

but

they knew how to live

and I intend to do them justice.

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