It pains me to remember you, to memorialize your laughter and your love. But what choice do I have? I cannot afford to forget you or your memories, they keep me alive.
I don’t believe in goodbyes. I don’t believe that the connections we have to people and things are temporary. That somewhere along the way they cease to exist, cease to carry meaning, cease to be something real.
A girl’s lifeless body was found in the woods not far from the car. Bound and gagged with her own prom dress, she was raped and strangled to death.
Why does poetry get such a bad rap? Why are we quicker to pass on it, call BS on it, or assume it has no place in the modern day?
In my hometown there is a giant house perched on a hill right on the corner of Alan Street and Hitcherson Road that you should never approach on Friday the 13th.
This isn’t clickbait.
I always wondered when it was the right time, if there was ever a right time
I would look at the counter, the bottles strewn across the shelves, of every variety
wondering what the correct combination was
It’s a strange, terrible and tragic thing, essentially just waiting for someone to die.
Every mother’s day since the incident, I think of how close I came to not having a mother anymore.
I do love you. I know I never said that enough. Or at all, I guess. Did you really need me to? Didn’t you know? I’m sure you did, I’m sure you knew. You had to.