Non-Fiction

The aliens are bacteria, viruses and fungi. They like to live in the most trendy spot in the right now: the bowels.

It glares down at me with a smug crustacean grin, and at once I have no question this is a lobster demon.

The biting rainwater dripping down my back melds with something deeper, some knowing. The crow is still here.

In the attic stands a cardboard mansion. I can relate to this wallpaper, slowly coming unglued inside this house.

She held on, the nurses marveling at her tenacious strength. They declared that she was not letting go quite yet.

Anticipation is vulnerability. The looking-forward to small pleasures was getting him through these dark days of lockdown.

Marrying the kindest man you’d ever met still felt like a caging, only this time it was you who turned the key.

These days in every direction I look, the world is falling apart. Fires and floods and extreme temperatures. A global pandemic. Almost 100 million refugees in the world seeking safe haven…

I mourn for the words of nobodies who had vital lessons or exceptional stories to tell, but they died, and their words were never found.