Open Window Nights

A piece originally published in the "American Music" anthology, soon to be featured in my new collection "No Chaser."

Open Window Nights

Tonight is the first open window night of the spring. Fond memories of breezes like this are finally brought back into my reality as the cold meanders into my room from the black beyond my window. The screen can only keep out mosquitoes, not the chill making its way up my spine. From my half-empty bed, I can hear the cars growl softly from the soul of a city as tired as I am, but to me, they may as well be ocean waves. On nights like these, I’m urban camping. The alley behind my rundown apartment complex is the well worn path I took to arrive on this beach. I pitch my studio-tent and force myself to the right side of my queen sized thermo-rest, in hopes that wherever your urban campsite may be, you find yourself curled up on the left. I keep my head cocked slightly toward my open window to listen, because despite those crashing waves, I just might be able to hear you whisper my name. Love knows no distance and sound carries just fine on its heavenly wings. Well, I’m still listening, still waiting, still whispering your name, just in case you keep your windows open, too.