He’s lying on his back. His useless, hairless legs stay wherever I put them.
What your therapist doesn’t realize, you want to tell him, is that any length of loneliness is too long.
A gust of wind blows me forward. The storm follows me in through the door. The snow swirls at my feet. I laugh like a madman as I slip on the slick tiles.
One… Two… Three… Draw!
I am lost in a sky of turbulence and haze—and to be lost is to never be home. Today is the first day of the year; it is also the first year you are not around.
One of my earliest memories is of jumping down all the stairs at once but it must’ve been a dream.
I gripped a dirty pint. Sometimes I hold a glass and feel the urge to grip it till it breaks. This was one of those times.