The Warbler

by Sarah Beth Durst

all bookstores have the same kind of familiarity, a comforting sense of Here you’ll find what you need.

You can only pile up so many regrets before they weigh you down,

I wonder what it would be like to have friends like that, inseparable friends. Or just a friend who you never had to say goodbye to.

I scan the shelves nearby and settle on Midnight at the Blackbird Café. “This one. Small town. Strange happenings. A sprinkling of magic that may or may not be real. Lots of heart.

I love when a book references another book that I adored!

She thought of what her mother said: every yes is a no to a dozen other things. But she didn’t think it was that simple. What if yes was the only answer because no was unthinkable? Or impractical? Or unacceptable?

She did love him. Usually. Mostly.

There were never fireworks—he was too easygoing for that. Stubborn, yes. He liked what he liked, and he went through life with the easy assurance of someone who believed they were always right.

sounds like someone i know...

Not unhappy isn’t precisely the same as happy.

Rose was sick of it. How long did she have to wait for what she wanted? When did she get to be the priority? It was always later, later, later. Why couldn’t someday be now?

My mother is a willow tree who stands by a stream. My mother is buried in a cemetery where not a single weed grows and all the flowers die in vases. Which is true? Does it matter, when I’m alone either way?

An unreliable narrator who is self-aware about being unreliable?

“That’s how the curse wins,” I say. “Expectations cage us. What other people expect. What we think they expect. What we expect of ourselves. The rules that we think are unbreakable.”