Story from a fellow MFA at the University of Kansas!
They found a skeleton this morning.
I don’t really want to talk about it. Then again, I don’t really want to talk about him either. But I’m going to anyway.
He doesn’t look anything like you. His hair reminds me of yellow feathers, wispy and vulnerable to wind. Your hair is black, sticking up like the ends of a broom, never lying flat no matter how much I run my fingers through it. His eyes are green, like the emeralds your father used to trade. Yours are black, shiny like fresh ashes. Black hair, black eyes, and somehow I still see more color in you.
Do you remember when you were ten and your father used to visit the castle with jewels? And you snuck off to the gardens? I was scared that you— a boy from a faraway land— had been sent to scold me for avoiding…
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