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Living Single

Evening train ride home. Body swaying, music playing and then it hits me: I’ve become comfortable with being single. Like, maybe too comfortable. Not that it’s a bad thing seeing…
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The First Part Last

Caribbean, Summer 1999. Dear Journal, There her hand lay, directly cupped under mine. Limp and brittle designed with intricate detail formed by veins and her skin’s lack of elasticity. Contrary…
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