She was what was known as a bad girl and I was a goody-two-shoes...
Thirteen years ago we first fought over Crayola markers in the Jewish nursery school...
Some people are just scary and terrifying and we should never, ever, ever try to talk to them. That is not at all what this post is about.
A series of dilemmas, for readers and for me, that reach towards profound questions of ultimate meaning.
I miss the days when friends and family members truly opened up about their insecurities, failures, and deep thoughts. Yes, you're adults now, but you can still share your souls.
From the moment our souls begin this journey, we’re moving toward something.
The group I imagined was splendid. But since when is something that seems wondrous actually wondrous and not, you know, a cult, or whatever?
Intimate sharing is wonderful to a point, but dangerous and even bone-chilling beyond that point. The implications are deep and potentially mystical.
A poem that squeezes humor and even transcendence out of my obsessiveness, ineptitude, and rotten choices. I'm guessing many can relate in various ways.