Writer, reader, coffee drinker, insomniac, mother of three human beings, pansexual, fan of the soliloquy.
The whistle blew, and Jenny threw up her arms and charged forward. The tall girl facing her laughed and did the same. They…
My family ties are stretched, the lines crisscross the country. We are connected by the thin thread of random texts and social media.
That my paint is still wet.
What is imaginary?
And what is surreal?