Creative
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Are you awake? It’s 2008.
It was a normal summer morning. I woke up around noon. Sunlight peeked through the yellow curtains, casting long, golden…
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Memory Of A Playground
Watching soap bubbles boil from the lips of children and the playground slides being swept clean into the evening by…
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butterflies perched on petals
Flowers flutter alongside the winged pollen and gliding buds as they race in the wind. Love is in the air,…
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An Uncomfortable Feeling
My lips hurt, like a lot. Not exactly my lip, but the cardinal structure of my face—it feels sore and…
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Hieroglyphics
Hieroglyphics: Ink, falling off of lines, its night-black hair swimming violently through the air. Secrets whisper between her strokes, hiding…
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How Would You Reply?
Lyrics taken from Henry Moodie’s Drunk Text. Our first words were exchanged at a philosophy lecture, where he sat in…
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The Final Performance
The way she speaks is frantic. “Can’t you see the possibilities? I’m telling you,” her steps echo out in the…
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Strangers
Eyes were always the hardest to face. Crowds of people, strangers, passed me as I waded through their masses, keeping…