Our Funny Valentine.

Anonymous Love Letter III Dear Mom, I went to the little cafe yesterday with Anna to do some work. It was rainy and cold and the semester was rearing its head at us. When we sat down at the table, I looked over our opened computers and into Anna’s eyes to ask if she was okay. We talked about how she couldn’t sleep the night before. She had spoken to Georgie, who, in her own way, had been falling apart. The conversation brought with it so many things, as conversations oft

Reflections on endings.

Reflections on health and familial love.

Not to be read on an empty stomach.

Anonymous Love Letter I for [redacted] from when we were in love, or the semblance of it I’ve never been to Malibu, imagine high-arched plastic feet and watery rum drinks, but I can do some thinking about it. For you, I guess I can do some thinking about it. When you say red convertible, convertible meaning transcendent, maybe, or changeable, I do some of that thinking I was thinking about, spew out a horizontal (or is it horizontal?) anyways, an orison. I don’t pray except

Miniature vignettes about moments of unexpected, unusual, or endearing campus connections.

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