Language buries, but does not resurrect.

“The sky is like a monochromatic contemporay painting, drawing me in its illusio…”

“I hated cranberry sauce, but for some reason my mom persisted in her lifelong b…”

“March 4th, the only day that is also a sentence”

“Cold,” he said, pressing a finger to my pale wrist.“Not cold so much as underox…”