by Abigail Eliza

Don’t forget, you must sleep with your windows open tonight. This will allow the new season to wash over you: remember, everything comes with changes, even the ways you love her, even the ways the rain falls when it catches the wind, especially your body, despite the ways you’ve made it less fragile through subjecting it to pain. You’re right, the rain will warp the wood of your desk when you do this. No, it’s not too much to ask — better the wood than your body, you’d hate to wake with gills and realize they have to stay. Lay a towel across the grain. Ask yourself how to be stronger. Feel the wind rattle into your room and count how many years you could not go to sleep warm. Have you stared into the fire yet? Have you said thank-you to the ones who made this food? Yes, go, it’s okay to celebrate with people who would see you hurt. Just wash it off at day’s end and remember when you kiss her — it’s an act of love.

Abigail Eliza (she/they) writes the Audio Verse Award-winning audio drama Back Again, Back Again, a story about alternate realms, ex-prophecy children, and queer girls with swords. Their work is otherwise scattered online, including in Rainy Day, Bricolage, Folklore Review, and Washington State’s Queer Poetry Anthology. When not writing, she is a tournament longsword fighter, contra dancer, middle school teacher, and intrepid explorer of Seattle’s parks. She can be found on Instagram and Bluesky @abigailelizawrites