And so I Must Go | Entropy, 2018

We’re all made of stories.

The kind where prologues take roots in the empty basements of hearts.

My story with her started when I tried to redeem myself for hurting you.

Please, Before You Go | Entropy, 2017

Let’s just say I found someone. Let’s just say they’re not you—let’s say they’re someone new.

I’ve had this low hum live inside my chest for the past month that’s slowly been inching up towards my throat. Sometimes it feels like a tremble, other times it’s a rumble—and, on rare occasions, it’s like a rabid beast trying to throttle its cage.

Goodbyes, good lies, and God’s lies | An Excerpt

My grandmother passed away while I was out in the Scottish wilderness—when I was somewhere in the green among the hundreds of sheep in the northwest.

The signal was bad and I was on vacation, and I quickly realized there was no way I could get to an airport in time for the funeral. And my dad said, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to, it’s okay.”

When the darkness comes back | Vol. 1 Brooklyn

Suffering from anxiety and losing the one you love feels a lot like penance. And I can’t breathe; and Father, forgive me for I have sinned.

 

I used to slay my demon with my pen.

Used to exorcise him from the night, my mind, from my dreams, our bed; used to silence the hauntings that echoed in the catacombs of my brain with a touch of your hand.

When the darkness comes back | A draft

Suffering from anxiety and losing the one you love feels a lot like penance. And I can’t breathe; and please forgive me.

Draft 3.2 | An Excerpt

The darkness came first.

It came just as the train left Chancery Lane station, stopping before it reached St. Paul’s. In the tunnel we stayed, the morning rush to reach work before 9AM at its peak.

I’d Really Like to Stop Writing About You | Let’s Mend, September 2015

Things I want you to know

1. I used to fall asleep with your memory for a pillow every night, my heart handing out solutions to every single obstacle that prevented us from being together. But my soul, she stayed away. She knew I was the one who destroyed us. She knew the reason I kept writing was because being hurt so much, you just have to write about it. I just never thought about the way my words hurt you. I’m no Joan Didion, and these past 15 months were definitely not my Year of Magical Thinking. Time didn’t heal my heart or soul—it just kind of made them numb, making me feel like I’m in a dream and I’d really like to wake up now.

This is how I don’t miss you | Excerpt 1.1

I’d like to stop writing about you now.

Writings #4

The first time I cried in public was when I was on the New York subway, and I had just turned 24. 

Work in Progress | Draft #1.1

When I write about you, I call you ‘The Light.’

Because that’s how all of my darkness knew it had to stay away.