Write your pros and cons, Julia said. And then talk, she said. I told the first girl that she wasn’t the first to cry in my aunt and uncle’s guest bed. God I was such a bitch. I left her. Like actually left her with my family. She left right when the next girl started… Continue reading

Thought she was a butterfly, saw butter everywhere. but I think I was wrong. She’s a moth. Continue reading

The next time it happens, what do you need to hear from me, my love? Continue reading

We have our favorite numbers. We practice them with our lips. Three is a solid choice, we hate four because it reminds me of the mandarin word for death. Five is fine, I guess. Six is pretty good cause of 666 and she likes that… but seven. Seven is our favorite. Seven is different. Seven… Continue reading

It’s not all-consuming the way people say. It’s the way she pulled me into the bathroom and tenderly clipped my fingernails between my knees after I said my nails had been bothering me the entire day. It’s the snapped crocodile clip that she fixed and painted pink hanging from my curtain. It’s the utility tool… Continue reading

We went on a picnic today. It was her first time. We fed each other tacos and sat shirtless in the sun. She sighed into my skin three times, and the sky witnessed it all. Continue reading

So this is what spring air tastes like. I guess this is how my fingernails feel. I’m excited about cinnamon raisin toast, something I haven’t had in over a decade. I knew I’d feel different but I never thought in a million years I’d remember and feel what it was like to feel and notice… Continue reading

I’m seven, and this is the way that I eat celery. I crack it in half down its spine and then peel the translucent skin off. Then, I’ll peel the long fibers out and eat them one by one followed by a final crunch. I’m really good at biting apples. Fujis are my favorite, and… Continue reading

It’s the warm cinnamon raisin toast with butter. Peanut butter for some protein. Delightful. Delectable. Warm. Filling. Slightly sweet. I’m rushing out the door with it and I’m seven, it’s time for school. But also I’m 24 and it’s time to drive to work. I don’t like tying my shoes, I’ve got toast in one… Continue reading

March: in like a lion, out like a lamb. oh god, Art aunt. I’m fucking praying you’re right. Please. Continue reading