Let’s say, just for one night, it won’t rain. Let’s say the stars shine down on us, like crinkled balls of tinfoil in an inky sky. Let’s say we take a walk along the foreshore, like we used to. Let’s say our fingers entwine, like a fishtail braid; and you lean into me as the wind wheeples through the trees, an eerie dirge. Let’s say the things people like us normally say, do what they normally do, when they take a midnight stroll. Let’s say the lights on the water look like glowing Greek columns, in a temple to some goddess of passion. Let’s say we’re invincible, two creatures constructed of diamond, sparkling the way your blue eyes did the first time you looked across this same path and into my own. Let’s say no to all the things we’ve said yes to that didn’t happen, to all the people who’ve asked the unforgivable time and time again, to everyone who judged us on our eventual silence. Let’s say, here in the darkness with the waves sighing as they drop gently on the sand, that in spite of it all we can still love each other.
Amanda McLeod is an Australian author and artist, and the Managing Editor at Animal Heart Press. Her fiction and poetry can be found in many places including Not Very Quiet, Ellipsis Zine, and Mojave He[art] Review. She loves quiet places and learning new words. Find her on Twitter @AmandaMWrites and on her website amandamcleodwrites.com