If the government doesn’t know about it, they should. After what happened to me. After what could happen to someone else.
Ours is my favorite story to tell,
Because it was unexpected
Because it’s remained,
through so many things and relationships
You were marked at conception, your soul is a gift. We will meet again soon, the pain will be swift.
My grandmother has Alzheimer’s, so when I wiped off an old vinyl record I’d found in her basement, she couldn’t warn me to burn the motherfucker.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze settled on the objects before her: the springboard, the balance beam, the whiskey bottles. The heat hung heavy. A rill of sweat slid between her breasts. She didn’t see the tiny camera-flash explosions igniting everywhere around her from within the darkness of the stadium.
Angela had been laying on the kitchen floor with her husband pinning down her legs and forcing her jaw open as he emptied the rat poison, made mostly of arsenic, into her mouth.
If you improve 1% a day, then that’s 3800% per year (compounding each day). I want to get a little better at what I love each day.
Should I talk to her? Should I say something? I feel like saying anything would destroy the sanctity of the scene. In my mind, she can be anything I want her to be and that’s the beauty of it all.
I swear I heard my daughter whisper my name. But, the thing is, I’m still pregnant.
If we would’ve had proper cell phone service, I would’ve gotten the optometrist’s warning calls. I would’ve ripped the contacts from my eyes.