Eccentric Circles
Eccentric Circles
IN THE DAYS Gone Funeral Home, in the back corner of the largest parlor, there was a loose floorboard where I once kept my dreams. I kept them locked tight in a box, storing them like treasure, until the day I could take them out and brush them off, like old friends coming to greet each other.
I didn’t store my dreams in a small box underneath the floorboards anymore. I didn’t need to.
But there was a girl who was a little bit tall and lanky for her age, dark hair and wide eyes, who wrote her dreams on spare pieces of paper and put them in a jar like fireflies, and when she found her mother’s old metal box and its smutty, smutty
X-Files
fanfic, she decided to store her dreams there, too.
And the wind that whistled through the old funeral parlor sang sweet and soft and sure.
Like love ought to
be.