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Not Always Thicker Than Water

By : January 4, 2021 Comments Off
If you’re anything at all like me, you might view the concept of family as one, big, nebulous, complicated substance of nonsense and multifaceted anxieties.  Hearing through the grapevine that my family collectively voted for conservative candidates, ones who openly vilified trans-positive legislation, was a blow to the chest. How on Earth was I supposed to come out to these people now?  The ostrich-style solution I came up with was to simply not do it, and I opted for avoiding them all instead, indefinitely.  That takes a toll on you, though. At least it did for me. It’s so much easier said than done to cut off family members who you know would give you the, “Well, we love you, but we can’t support this lifestyle choice,” spiel. For better
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Can We Talk About the Word?

By : January 4, 2021 Comments Off
“Can we talk about the word?” Emilia says. Zahra sits, writing in her brown, leather-covered notebook in Central Park at a round, white, steel table. Her yellow dress dances across her crossed legs as she slightly moves, habitually turning her ankle, which makes her gold sandals bounce. Beside the notebook is half a bottle of water and a peach. The day is kind and warm. The sun is shining bright. Several hummingbirds hover near a tree that cast its shadow over the small white table and Zahra. Zahra had been walking for some time before she grew tired and decided to rest. Now she writes, I need you here with me to -  “Can we talk about the word?” Emilia, again, says.  Zahra stops writing, pressing her pen on the
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Yellow

By : January 4, 2021 Comments Off
Mae’s wife loves yellow roses. In fact, she loves the color yellow in all forms. The sweet scent of honeysuckle blesses her with a yellow glow from strolling through the woods. Mae’s wife talks to herself in the woods. Soon, she’ll talk to herself in the house, too. Every morning she swallows a spoonful of honey. “It’s good for you,” she insists, then giggles like a little girl. Mae buys yellow roses for every vase in the house. Yellow petals fall on pill bottles lined up like a parade. “Flowers are a gift to the home,” Mae says, and paints over the spots in the walls, and puts down rugs to hide the knots in the wooden floors. The smell of roses hugs the home year-round and when yellow flames
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Lighthouse

By : January 4, 2021 Comments Off
At that moment I was at peace in the center I was the eye of the storm  Intrigued by your beacon of light The voyage to the lighthouse was treacherous Deep in the sea of chaos that haloed me Ambushed by all of your strife Only to discover that you weren’t my haven The calm after the storm made me see You were the downpour from the beginning I started to understand why storms were named after people. Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to our weekly newsletter to find out when new stories are published. [hubspot portal="4679048" id="962ea2a6-7b06-442a-90fd-58a7c8a4ecc9" type="form"] Learn how to join our Writers Cohort here. Follow us:
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