The need to escape somewhere was an ache for me this year. I felt it beating in that hollow sitting at the base of…

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In The End of the Affair, a crumpled letter, from Sarah to a lover, is found in the rubbish bin. The discarded words read,…

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“There’s just something about you,” he wrote in a text to me the next day. The night before, we had been seated across from…

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I couldn’t write this year. Not much, anyway. Not outside of copywriting, my work. And even that had many unfocused, brain-wandering, challenging moments. The…

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Having spent most of my pre-pandemic days working from home at a desk in my living room, I can tell you where and when…

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My body is a map of treasures, challenges, history. Its topography is anything but predictable. There are manmade markings and natural wonders and trying-to-stay-hidden…

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