On Containing Multitudes

On Containing Multitudes

The sun was just below the horizon and the evening began in earnest. He sat down beside her in the windswept long grass. For too long, he said nothing.

Then, “It’s getting dark.”

She looked toward him, but didn’t turn her head. She took a long, deep breath and let it out the same way, then closed her eyes.

“I’m going to put the house on the market,” she said.

“But you love that house!”

She didn’t answer right away, and opened her eyes to the magenta and peach fire at the horizon.

“Yeah. It’s all nostalgia and memories of good days. And good lives lived there. And I’m going to sell it.”

He chewed his lip. She turned her head finally and saw him frown.

“I love it and I’m still selling it. I’m sad and I’m excited, and I’m confused and I’ve never been so fucking sure about anything before.” She turned back to the darkening orange glow. “I want to see the stars,” she said.

“You want to wait till dark. How come?”

She shrugged. “They’re pretty. And I never do it.”

The breeze pushed their hair around. A car horn beeped faintly. The orange began to gray.

“They are pretty,” he said.

She smiled.

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