In the mornings, I avoided the thought, when I woke on the warm side of a bed and later, as the dog scratched at the door. Breakfast, he begged. God damn – take a breath Juno, we moaned back, our faces pressed into pillows. The familiarity of our life – I wanted to preserve. To... Continue Reading →
In the morning, I wash the inside of a french press with a sponge, and grab the brown bag of coffee grounds from behind the sink. I shake to loosen what's left before turning the bag over the press, watching as the grounds spill to the bottom. As I fill the kettle with water and... Continue Reading →
I am pulling up in front of his house, with a round plastic container of shredded Parmesan bouncing around the passenger seat. He called earlier in the week. "I found a few things, cleaning out storage. I think you may want them." I could've asked what the items were, and determined then whether they were... Continue Reading →
When he handed dirty underwear to me that sticky, Brooklyn spring morning - I was crouched naked next to his bed, fishing through my over-sized purse for concealer. It was 8:26am, and down the street, the M train screeched to a stop at the Knickerbocker platform. Shit, I mumbled - fumbling through makeup brushes. I'd... Continue Reading →
Seville, Spain, 2011 It's late, and we'd talked for hours. Long enough that when we looked away, our eyes burned from the light off our screens, and our ears sore from the headphones pressing against them. I'm fucked tomorrow, I groaned, glancing at the clock to the bottom right of the computer. What I remember... Continue Reading →
It's 20 past the hour when I finally throw open the door to the restaurant we agreed to meet. He's easy to spot, his long, braided hair setting over his right shoulder; I see him through the window walking up, and glide past the hostess stand with a signal that implies 'I know where to... Continue Reading →
You okay Linds? He asks. You look good. I just mean y'know, in life. You seem a little unsure, I guess, he pauses. Unsteady. We're sitting in my parents church parking lot: my head rested against the back of his passenger seat. The turtleneck of my black dress scratches at my neck, and I stretch... Continue Reading →
Are you home for Xmas? I read the text, and frown. Where else would I be? I write back. I pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Yes, I write again, feeling slightly callous. He texts back immediately: Thought you might be in Kansas, seeing your dad's fam. You just had lunch with my dad,... Continue Reading →
I still think about him, he says, the ash of his cigarette flaking off near my shoe. As we all do, I shrug, tired of the runaround. We all think of him. Every day probably. I don't. I shrug again - but it feels forced. Well however much then; we all do. I mean, I... Continue Reading →
Manny, I said, that night on your couch. I don't want to be normal. You smiled. We were 22 or so, and in your parents home in Germany. It would be one of the last nights I spent with you. You think you're normal? Well no, I paused. I just mean I don't want this... Continue Reading →
Lindsey Hall Writes 