The Warbler

by Sarah Beth Durst

I have a towel in my backpack. Always travel with one. As the famous hitchhiker book says, they have hundreds of uses.

“Of course she’s here. She’s only a liar to herself.” Well, that’s a bit personal and also false—I lie to everyone, including myself, every damn day.

“I miss who she was. I guess I still grieve what our future could have been, if that makes sense. But no, I’m not in love with her anymore. She’s not who she was, and neither am I.”