What I remember is the ache. Deep in my gut the knowledge that I was lost, that whatever map had lead me here would be no good to me ever again. And so I wrapped my arms around myself, the way you had wrapped around me that night, and I ached. I remember you made … Continue reading First
Tag: stories
Dreams of Home
He pinned me down like a beetle on a board, face full of concern. “Why won’t you talk to me? I’m worried.” Little lightning bolts shot around just under the surface of my skin and I tried to think of what expression would be appropriate on my face in this moment. “Why does it matter? … Continue reading Dreams of Home
