The dusty photographs drift past her outstretched fingertips, like feathers blown by the storm she is. Drifting, drifting, almost weightless—the word is almost—she feels her throat lock in an attempt to calm down. Memories are nothing to be scared of. Remembering is what scared her. She has to—she has a moral duty to go […]
I have been sick since Saturday morning and am currently grouchy, drowsy, and moody. I want to write but I don’t know what to write.