A straight line. My house, to the train, to the airport. To security, and through it. Down an escalator, a coffee – too bitter – board the plane. I exhale…

I’ve got my hands on the steering wheel of a shitty rental car. Frankie is buckled into her booster in the back seat. I’m smug. I’m on time. There’s the…

January heartbreak is the worst kind. Nothing to buffer it. Days are shorter, dark is darker, and slush abounds. The walls are quiet. Stark. He was gone. Twenty-three years-old and…

A bowl of dried-up Cheerios on the counter, flakes of croissant, cups of half-drunk coffee. Today is almost nine months since Easter weekend, when he and I knew that part…