From a letter (to Alishya)

by brittanychavez

I could describe my life to you in little moments, like:

I am walking home in the middle of the street. It is wet. It is so wet. I have to cross a large road to get home. I could go under it, but I go across. The first side is easy, no one is coming, I pass calmly. Now I am here, on a median about two feet wide, and there are cars coming. I pause. Cars pass. 45 mph? 50 mph? And as a truck sprays road water in a mist around me, it occurs to me that I have made myself intimate with the speed at which it would take to be killed.

And I pass. And I am walking up a sidewalk vines on the side of me, dry leaves rewetted on the ground. About to open the gate, wondering would it be better to come home to an empty house or a house thats already been filled. And the acknowledgment, that I won’t know until I open the gate, turn the corner

Turn the corner and see

And see the lights on. And it is better to come home to a full house, after all.

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