Tailor-Made Grace

I hadn’t met her before this cold January night when we were sitting in a terribly outdated conference room on the fourth floor of a downtown hospital. She kept fidgeting with her hands, and her eyes darted between her text messages and the clock on the wall. Her bright red sweatshirt was the loudest color…

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Even If

There’s just something about a new year. It’s a period, not a comma. A hard stop. That was last year; what does this year hold? We have no idea, and maybe that’s the best part.

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The Talk

I don’t recall any conversations about sex during my formative years.

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