love
-
I leaned in and pressed my lips against his own. They were soft. He kissed back. I know he did. I swear, he kissed me back. And for a few seconds there was only Maverick and Reston—hiding in a bush during recess and locking lips in a safe space.
-
The Big Game Poetry Collection is a literary movement addressing spirituality, survival, and emotional truth. It has evolved into an artistic ecosystem, blending literature with fashion and digital storytelling to foster discussions on grief and identity. The recent feature in BARBORA Editorial Magazine highlights its growth and community engagement.
-
I opened my mouth to counter that statement, but had no argument. What did I do with my life? I wasn’t invested in my job. I played games, watched videos, scrolled social media. My outside activities involved others prying me out of the house to participate—otherwise, I wouldn’t have made the effort. I had no…
-
I caught slivers of the words the doctor whispered to Whalebone. Miscarried. Unfortunate, but perhaps for the best given my condition. I thought about that for a long time. What was my condition? Was it of the mind or of the body? I couldn’t say.
-
Other than karaoke, he’d hit the center during inclement weather or if he wanted to use the net. Against his better judgment, he called Rory and left a message on her voicemail. “Last night was fun. I hope to get—” and he paused for a moment. And then quickly added, “We can get together soon.”
-
The universe usually seemed to work in opposition to people’s plans; was he now doomed to fall in love then get divorced then spend his twilight years looking at smiling pictures that now only made him frown?
-
Forgiveness, she learned, wasn’t forgetting—it was surviving without poisoning yourself.
