A TALE OF A NYMPH
by Simona Balabanova
Cars, notifications, other people's opinions of who I should be, it never really stops, does it? Some days I can't tell if the person I used to be is gone for good, or just buried under everything I had to become to survive here. I don't have a neat ending for this. I just know that sometimes, late at night, when the city finally quiets down for a second, I still hear something underneath it. And when I close my eyes the silence is leading me back to my freedom.
