I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. It was still dark outside, and I wasn’t fully awake yet, but I answered my phone and heard a familiar voice. “It snowed over a foot last night! We need you ... [+]
“Hello!”
(“Hello”)
he hates you.
“Excuse me,”
(“No worries!”)
she hates you.
“Have
...
[+]
What it Means to be Different-
You Must Suffer to Truly Live
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Poems about the Transgende
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As we arrived in Cambodia the sweltering hot air clung to our skin. The air felt like a river. Filling our lungs with water, making it hard to breathe. We traveled to a small, rural town where we ... [+]
Julia walked into The Paper Hound Bookshop. Julia loved books and every Saturday would spend the day discovering a new bookstore. She instantly fell in love with the store, she admired the floor to ... [+]
The look in the mother’s eyes turned from desperation to gratitude as I leaned over the back of my pew, offering to take the eighteen-month-old. He almost leapt to me, ready to get away from the ... [+]
Every day I walked the Lade Braes path to school. The tall oaks lining the path sheltered me from ... [+]
The Forbidden House
I knew what it was. I knew the house on the beach and that I needed to get there. I was there late at night when I knew I had to get away from my mom screaming that the walls
...
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“It has been three days since the search began, and we have yet to find the girl who is going to collapse the sky upon our heads. The president has refused to make any statement. I suppose all I have ... [+]
Javier: “Francisco.”
Francisco: “yes, Javi?”
Javier: “Can we take a break? My feet are sore.”
Francisco: “No, just a little farther we are almost there.”
Javier: “You said the same thing
...
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“Be mine”, crunch. “XOXO”, crunch. “Say Yes”, crunch. I alternate sips from the glass of Merlot sitting in my left hand with the candy hearts I’m gorging with my right. Looking at the box, the amount ... [+]
Memory is a tricky thing. It could be altered too easily, Arthur thought. But maybe that was just because he was particularly good at tripping people up, getting them to confuse real events with ones ... [+]
I’ll never sing at Carnegie—
My voice is quiet and small.
But there was one performance
...
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I am not, nor have I ever been, an artist.
I am and have always been, a dreamer.
When I was in 3rd grade I had a necklace from Claire’s, which, in plastic silver letters, labeled me as
...
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