More than any other moment in my life, leaving Portland has felt like pushing a reset button.
The way your apartment smelled—like Dial and Old Spice, clean and warm. You tickling me. And me retaliating with my cold hands—or feet—against your bare skin.
I ambushed you with the soup you
This post is about vulnerability, hurt, and nonconsensual sex.
Suddenly the days were longer and everything was green with buds and new leaves and then pink or white or yellow or purple with petals.