Our Rooms Are Like Treehouses
Both with decks attached that lead into pockets of treetops. Our rooms are like treehouses, and if I had a string long enough, I would make a tin can telephone and give one half to you. If we had a tin can telephone tying our treehouse rooms together, then I would whisper into it at night to see if you were still awake. If you were still awake, then I would tell you all the things that freeze on my tongue when we are together—when everything gets flurried, and I forget that you can’t hear me through the silence.
From Guest Contributor Grace Coughlin
Grace is from Buffalo, New York. She is currently a Senior at St. John Fisher College, majoring in Psychology with minors in English and Visual and Performing Arts. She has 100-word stories forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Otoliths Review.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.