To Be Real

I just wish you knew me, the small things and big things, the pieces and places and people that make me. We, us, you, me– these identities flutter, undulate between then and now, the spaces we flow, our fluidity widening, contracting, burying us and letting us breathe. How can you know me now? The me […]


It’s harder to write than to key because our handwriting shows our pain in the strokes. Wavy, inconsistent, faltering letters reveal our tragedy, our heartache. The reader feels the tears in each curl and hesitation. Hearts laid bare in a handful of lines, and you have this pain in your hands. Each time you read […]

And It’s Christmas Eve

I wonder if you’re left-handed and then I keep thinking this is something I should know but I don’t remember ever seeing you write. How can I love someone and not know what hand they favor? That seems absurd but nonetheless, my breath catches on the words left unsaid, those lingering moments of ephemeral completeness […]