Oct 16, 2020
We Are the Flare
The house erupted faster than it should, but that’s the trouble with dancing on somebody else’s hurt.
The house erupted faster than it should, but that’s the trouble with dancing on somebody else’s hurt.
My mother’s favorite spring has water that reflects her beauty more honestly than a front-facing camera.
Some women attract deadbeats; others, their fathers. Isn’t it possible, then, for some women to attract gay guys?
One didn’t come all this way in the careful study of the instrument to play it safe.
Though Zya had been too young to recognize it as unusual, she could remember the first time Rania had washed her brain.
They weren’t shaped in the same image he had of the older Korean boys Jacob had not seen since he left, these hyungs who towered over Jacob still.
Good mothers don’t lose composure, she thought, even if an asteroid is heading at them, they don’t loosen screen time limits or miss piano lessons.
Suddenly a heart beat inside its concrete shell. It was a murmur, a light and irregular thing, so faint that I wondered if it was real.
Here was the situation: Pearl belonged to Ba, Em belonged to Ma, and I belonged to my sisters.
Oftentimes, the dead leave town. Olga thinks the dead leave because they find there is no place for them.
When a girl Miss-Mary-Macks with you, it’s like you share a birthday for a full breathless sixty seconds.
The plan was to seal themselves inside for as long as they needed to—until the world stopped burning, until it was safe.
One day, Brian would dissolve into the atmosphere and not come back. One day, this room, our home, our love, would no longer be able to contain him.
Houses were flooded, roofs were carried away in the wind...And a month before that, the condoms in my father’s wardrobe mysteriously disappeared.
“Hello, [a mispronounced version of your name], pleased to meet you.”
They like flirting with local women. When they’re satisfied with the season, they catch a plane and go back to gringolandia.
The bubbly letters were both a direction and a justification for the lines of people who shelled out $37.50 for a forty-five-minute “experience” at “the sweetest place on earth.”
Why can’t we imagine, just for the sake of argument, that a joyful spirit leaves some of themselves behind—an echo of joy in a place they once loved?
What is dramatic about wanting to protect ten kids from the bullshit of the world? Just ten. That’s all I want.
