by Masha Kisel
It was never about pleasure or fun. You gave yourself a scary dare, waved stiffly, and forced a smile, “See you on the other side!,” before you jumped in. But the morning after, you knew that you hadn’t survived. You’re a replica of yesterday’s girl, who drowned in the night. Now you smell different, and full of honey-thick longing for the evaporating warmth of the stranger still sleeping next to you.
Masha Kisel’s essays and short stories have appeared in The Forward, Columbia Journal, East by Northeast, and Gulf Coast. She currently lives in Dayton, Ohio.