Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
To my mom on Mother’s Day, There’s a lot of days that I like to celebrate you. Your birthday, spoiling you on Christmas, when you got the promotion you wanted so badly. I like to think we do our best to celebrate you every day. Some days are different. Some days don’t feel like a celebration for you. But today, on top of all others, I want to take this time to say a few words of celebration, to honour the incredible woman you are. You are so many things. You are the strongest, most courageous woman in the world. You would walk to the ends of the earth for everyone you know. You would defend anyone’s honour. You have an amazing knack for making everyone in your life feel like the most important person to you. I don’t know if you know this, but dad tells me all the time how I “should try to be more like mom,” and to me, that means I should be more welcoming to people, let them in with open arms. I should always, ALWAYS find the good in someone. I should learn to cook l...