by Sky Sprayberry
I whisper your name as you storm away, dodging tourists in the crowded Roman Forum. It’s an elegy tumbling from my lips, a requiem for the house of cards we’ve built for our future. An hour ago, we were navigating the winding streets to the Colosseum, ironically bad names for future children slipping through our gelato-stained smiles. That was before I said the wrong thing and stumbled on a cobblestone hidden by your baggage, another perceived slight that cut you deeper than a knife. Now, the gray clouds roll in like a funeral shroud over the ruins of the society that once stood here. Soon we’ll be in ruins too.
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Sky Sprayberry is a DC-based writer. Her work can be found in The Molotov Cocktail, Rejection Letters, and BULLSHIT, among others. Say hi @writtenbysky.
