My life is writing itself as a hymn. The melody keeps rounding, over and over, each verse stacked atop the other — four, five, six tall — the words glittering in the rhythm like fool’s gold lining a creek bed.
Read MoreA few weeks ago I applied for an opportunity, which resulted in a very nicely-worded email informing me that I had so much potential, I was being placed on a waitlist.
Read MoreI look at things. I guess most people do, but I wonder what everyone else sees when they’re looking. I suppose that’s what conversations are for. Conversations make me tired. I guess that’s why I’m a writer.
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