In another valley, the root of nostalgia, even now from this distance, flowers open to pearls of blood, the heart about to turn hard, like the knob of a door left ajar. Written by Maria Benet, of Alem… more →
qarrtsiluniqarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: In another valley, the root of nostalgia, even now from this distance, flowers open to pearls of blo … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: I remember the first lie I told. My friend Garrett and I wanted to walk to the raspberry fields acro … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: Why do you resist me? the man asks. The woman braids her hair. He touches her shoulder, the sma … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: Half-truths, glosses, white lies, are these so harmful? I missed instruction on how to cover my trai … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: My mother knows I’m here, down behind the front seat in the dark space where people in the bac … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: Your words fall on me like rain out of a dark sky under a street lamp out of nowhere plummeting towa … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: All winter long, I keep the thermostat turned down as low as possible to conserve oil. I dress like … more →
qarrtsiluni wrote 3 years ago: History is the bridge over the past tense, an arc of illuminated dust, the light from the projection … more →