She screamed so often that you might lose track of what triggered her (which is tricky because while there were certainly things that triggered her, more often than not there would be no discernible trigger

What is the entryway to my heart? Words. Spoken or written. Words put together in surprising ways. Words that make me see things in different ways. Words that make me laugh, or relieve my considerable

sweater weather whether the sweeter remembrance of heather could stand for the test of her time, and together for better or worse with the curse of regret or the weft of her knit or the warp of her several

It seems as though planning for fun is a fool's errand. I mean, sure. Coming up with options is never a bad idea. If you want to explore a city you don't know, for instance, you don't want to go in completely

The chilly December air snapped against Melinda's face as she sat on the steps of the doctor's office where her mother worked. She was working a candy cane between her teeth, never crunching but carefully

Prompted with lovely artwork by @loliboofae They often felt otherworldly apart as though looking through a window at the world around Them and by the world They meant the planet in microcosm and macrocosm

It was a lot of work, others might have thought, to do her nails differently each day. Selecting from a variety of sheens and textures and colors and translucencies, pairing or contrasting with her outfit.

For It was velvet, usually. Quilted. It hung from her rounded shoulders to her ankles and represented everything, in retrospect, that I wanted to run away from. I hadn't thought of her house coat in years,