After 17 years together, I asked you if you still loved me. You shrugged, then kept shrugging, writhing and undulating, until we cracked open and you left, just like that, the husk of us still clinging to the us that used to be. Then you flew away, shining and fresh, singing, a cicada free from its prison.
Sarah Tollok is a reader and writer from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. She refuses to pick just one genre because she's having too much fun. Words in Intangible Lit and Second Chance Lit. Can be found at SarahTollok.com and on twitter @SarahTollok.