I fall into holes with him every few years bent backwards, doubled over never faces meeting but minds perhaps  


I’m sorry

I noticed something today. As I cleared the second to last thing on my list off the table; three tiny shells right there, next to my laptop. Auger shells, pink and pale, the tips lost in a storm perhaps, or just from breaking on the beach. I picked them up in my hand and my… Continue reading I’m sorry


is not my firstborn, he is my ultimate. He is the point of every miscarriage, every failed test, every drunken shag, every sober shag, every kiss, every ounce of love, every thought for 8 years, every ovulation pain, every pain at the absence of ovulation, every wish I wasn't drunk, every cause for being drunk,… Continue reading He