Dear Me,

We didn’t meet in a coffee shop.
There was no collision in a cinematic twist of time.
To be honest, I think of you often. You are like a shadow flittering about in the corner of my best days, trying to separate yourself from my being. You’re still there, always there, your shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes scanning for something to pro…read more

Dear Shop of Stories,

I walk in and am hit with the strong scent of antiseptic and adrenaline. To me, though, it feels like a confessional.

I remember walking in scared that first time, not because of the pulsating needle, but I was scared of being seen. I wasn’t there to be rebellious or to ruin my body. I was there because I needed to r…read more

To My Dear Hardwood Floor,

There has always been something about a well worn and used hardwood floor; the kind that gets smothered by the weight of a thousand stories. The dust and dirt and scuffs tell stories of long nights, the kind beginning with a casual two step and ending with a stranger being pulled closer than their partner…read more