Leslie Finlay

We moved away to experience the world and are still only talking about living.

I’ve never been a smoker, but it reminds me of his fingers when they touched my face, the way my hair absorbed the ambient nicotine of Brooklyn rooftops and stayed with me for days. It’s a physical conduit to the things I no longer have, but it reminds me that they were real.

“You’re doing what?”

And with the leaves now all gone, we can turn a new anything over.

Do you feel alive?

The ammonia-overload instantly hit the senses, released a little more intensely with each chew of the rubbery meat. But what was interesting was how it felt like an entire new way of experiencing food.

His eyes were awake now and sunk into mine, his grin thirsty and familiar. I gripped my shirt to my body as I rolled over and inaudibly mumbled “yeah right.”

Home is the people who remind you of who you are.