Something about time makes me feel like I have to tighten my fist around it. Like there won’t ever be enough. This year, I kept forgetting which anniversary we were approaching. When I was in the trenches of early grief, I thought that was the hard part. The firsts, the seconds, the whiplash. But then … More What’s Left Behind
Grief is that overflowing drawer I keep closing, and it’s not always grief over dead things. These days, it’s grief about the fact that everything I do feels like pulling salt out of water – and failing at it. I’m 23 now and apparently that means i’ve got plenty of time. (People keep forgetting that … More salt water
I will try again and always again (upon receiving my first rejection letter for my novel) / 1.5.18 Tonight’s emotional stability level can be described as Fritz Messing from Catch and Release / 1.6.18 Calving is when glaciers break. Calving is when you look at me / 1.12.18 It feels like maybe I’ve been fighting … More pause & rewind.
do you remember the way car washes made you feel when you were younger when you stopped being scared of them and realized they made every song sound better and your dad was a king in the driver’s seat. waves crashed and crashed over the dark blue minivan and you could have been anywhere. things … More the way it all crashes
there’s another version of this story. where I get you hooked on iced coffee with soy milk & we laugh because you remember the face I made the first time I tried soy milk (I was eight). where I can read internet compilations of “dad jokes” without crying. where I tell you about the boy … More Abba
Ten years ago, I was ten years old. Ten years ago, my dad died. This time last year, I wrote something bitter and angry. This year, I am slightly more grateful. I recently read somewhere: “You will be lost and unlost. Over and over again.” I took a lot of comfort from this, but I … More Ten.
you taught me how to breathe and how to get angry. you taught me how to put batteries in my alarm clock and how to cry while saying goodnight. your ghost taught me about grief. your ghost is asking me for apologies. apologies for my tattoo. apologies for all the boys i’ve kissed. apologies for … More apologies to a wedding dress
It was the same cobblestone path I walked every day. It led to the same bus stop, the same iron bench next to its sign. It was the same streetlight I leaned against every day while waiting for the rumble and screech of the bus wheels that would take me to campus for my 10 … More Streetlight Petrichor
noor of my heart 