Chelsea has brown brown brown ( Read more... )

I carry my quilt back and forth, back and forth. Each time I carry it out and back into my home holding it under my chin and breathing in the scent. I feel like a little girl. I carry it until I can find a place to call home. Someone to share my quilt ( Read more... )

Hello fiction, old friend.

I guess I knew something was wrong the day I was brought to tears in the aisle of a local Home Depot. I had gone shopping with my mother who was there to find the right kind of sandpaper for my father. After returning home the day before with a slightly more coarse variety, my father had yelled quite ( Read more... )