Psychopomp Magazine Fall 2016 - Page 45

isn't right. They evolved so that they would be unpredictable to predators.”

“It's weird to think of them as broods. Like insects could be brooding.”

“What, like cicadas of Wuthering Heights?” Her eyes were bright with humor.

Was I really standing here, flirting with my dead ex, talking about cicadas?

“Will you ever come back? Once every seventeen years?” I joked, but there was no humor in my voice.

Her eyes met mine briefly, then she shook her head. She hitched up her shoulder bag―another familiar gesture. “No, I'm not even really here right now.” She was looking down the street at the morning joggers, early risers holding paper cups of carryout coffee.

I didn't want her to leave, but I knew I couldn't grab her and hold her.“I love you,” I said.

She smiled, a little sadly, bittersweet. “I know.” ♦

Vera Kurian | 45