My fan is acting in the place of crickets and i peck as softly as i can at the keys. She yells at me for beating on her keyboard sometimes, because i seem to be under the impression that the harder i type the more effective my words will be. She’s asleep, i think, and here i am being gentler with my own keyboard than i usually am with hers.
The fan is acting in the place of crickets because everything has been rendered silent by the cool air it is pulling in from outside, with just enough chill in it to remind me that it’s not quite spring yet. I love wrapping myself up in that air and my blankets, but i am always sorry for it in the morning when i am redressed in a scratchy throat and dewy skin.
Erika has disappeared for the night. Lindsay has flown off to another state entirely. The neighbor has his lights off and his blinds closed. Kat is across the house from here, silent if not asleep. The fan and my tiny clacking keys are the only sounds in this room other than breath slowly sighing, and when i remember to breathe. It is only me that’s left to tiptoe to my bed, careful not to interrupt this perfect peace i have found myself situated within.