The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
I’d never felt sadder at the prospect of not being a part of someone else’s story.
The infallible whiteness of the walls, the omnipresent smell of disinfectants, and the fields of artificial grass come back to me. Swimming before me are visions of smiling children and the legions of overworked childcare professionals constantly at their service. Every blink threatens to permanently relocate me to their world of ceaseless laughter.
It’s God’s funny way of reminding me that all that is received is a gift that is broken.
Drenched in sweet moonlight yet hidden in part, She sat on an oak tree that lived in the dark.
There was a letter from Yana’s grandmother on her nightstand. Which was weird, because just ten minutes ago, she and her parents stood on their porch as her grandmother drove away. Why would she leave a letter? Picking it up, Yana turned it over to see her name scribbled on top. Inside, with neat handwriting:
Something was ominous about the way the doorbell rang. Not that the one who pressed it was bringing bad luck, but the other side seemed menacing for the one who waited at the door.
June 2042. That’s the first day the floods came but never left. For over a decade, politicians and billionaires had told the world it would be alright. Things were under control.
When the city slept, I wrote in my diary as if I was writing to you, not knowing if my words would ever reach you. I cried myself to sleep every night just to wake up to a reality that was more excruciating than any nightmare I could think of.
As I burn through my twenties at a nauseating speed, the thought that I will die alone creeps in softly, stretches, and curls into a tight ball like a sleepy kitten, and claims my heart as its permanent residence.
Climbing over walls with barbed wire fences, Steep stairs and stained elevators,
