Into the Fall

by Tamara L. Miller

On that first night, the river slipped into evening attire, cloaking itself in dozens of fireflies beneath the pinpricks of countless stars.

Sarah was astonished by her ability to love someone who resented her so much.

Memory was a misplaced faith; we believed in our pasts only as far as we remembered them.

It was like that, grief. Dormant, but always ravenous, waking in its own time to steal away moments of contentment.