Fountains find my wishes, sending them to bright stars, that feud with the lights of the skyline. You are pouring me juice, as I watch palm trees dancing to the wind’s melody, silently, you call my name, pointing at the sweet spot on your knee, that I call home, and I think, I finally learned…

It began with caramel digestives. He had them in his kitchen, and confessed that one of my stories had inspired the purchase. My heart melted, just at the thought of finding someone who listens, who remembers the little things, and I watched him pour me another drink, as I tried to look interesting and sophisticated.…

I have a notebook, where I wrote my will, last summer, so that people would know, where what little I possessed was meant to go, and so that my mother would know, that under no circumstances, was she permitted to use a photo outside of my own careful selections, on the news, or the funeral…