The Difference Between Crickets and Cicadas
I cradle you in my arms, a terrible weight, no longer hearing the gunfire, the shots that ring out throughout the office, with its maze of cubicles and down-turned faces, the shots that leave a high-pitched screeching in my ears. The top of your head is sheared off and your eyes are open, bloodshot and blue, the last vestiges of surprise slowly slackening from your face. Visions of us walking in the streets lit up by artificial lights, as you explained to me the difference between crickets and cicadas, and that time I stumbled into an open manhole and you grabbed my hands—like I grip yours now, slick with blood—and helped me out, laughing, and how I never told you that I loved you so here it is now: I love you, I love you, I love you with all of my being, I will never let you go. Footsteps approach, slowly, echoing, towards us and I will never let you go.