
After You
by Alex Treuber
I was nineteen years old when I started following people. The first was a young man holding a bouquet of flowers with tears running down his cheeks. I followed him down to the docks and watched from afar as he ripped the heads from their stems and tossed them into the current where they floated away like paper sailboats. As he wailed into the gray wind I felt something inside me settle into place, an overwhelming sense of warmth and solace, and that night I dreamed I was walking down the aisle in a great white wedding gown made of roses.






