I'm a hypochondriac.
Although wouldn't it be just like a hypochondriac to try and diagnose themselves as a hypochondriac? A medical and philosophical conundrum, to say the least.
My dread of
...
[+]
"Where the hell are we going anyway?" Cynthia asks Jess in a stern tone.
We've been on the road for several hours, stuck in Jess's mini cooper listening to nothing but Harry Styles and Miley
...
[+]
My bloodless white fingers grasped my thighs, squeezing away like Sunday lemonade. I gasped, letting my head fall back. I thumbed the lining of my shorts, finding a loose thread and pulling hard. No ... [+]
Sent up to look out,
Taking shots of the moons.
Yet not without,
A self-loving swoon.
...
[+]
Mallory Johnson lived in the suburbs behind a white picket fence and a dark pine door. Her husband called her "Mal" when he trudged in late on the weekends, drunk and tired. David Smith was a working ... [+]
I naturally started writing with my left hand because it just felt right.
I held a pen in my
...
[+]
