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A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Early November, 1984

She was in her flannel bathrobe, the one that makes her look like a fairy-tale princess. It was chilly when we first got into bed, but we warmed up quickly. I can still feel her arms around me, her hands massaging my back. I can definitely smell her on my fingers. Vaginas are such sweet places. . . We didn’t get out of bed till this afternoon.

I’m Slowly Trying To Forget You

I think some of the biggest tragedies are ones that are hidden in plain sight. It’s not always the big breakups or accidents. Sometimes it’s the slow forgetting of a person, the lingering way we start to stop staying in touch.

50 World Travelers Tell Their Creepiest Hotel Stories 

50 World Travelers Tell Their Creepiest Hotel Stories 

There were four sets of breathing, including mine. Counted again, and again, four sets, mine, my two friends, and some… thing? someone? else. This repeated every night for the four nights we stayed there, and in my culture, we don’t mention the supernatural in case they notice we notice them, so I suffered those nights alone.

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