Tormented
Elizabeth Sak
Not knowing the name of the song that made you feel or the name of the feeling itself. Not knowing the name of the boy three tables over or how he takes his coffee. Not knowing what lies ahead and worrying whether you’ll be ready when you know you won’t be or can’t be (maybe both). The questions come in streams:
Can butterflies become depressed or is that misery reserved for humans alone? Do librarians leaf through love stories when they think no one is looking? Is lighting what makes a photograph or is it knowing in that moment something is happening that will outlast our temporal memory? The way he holds the camera, tilted sideways, knees in the soil, coffee cup beside him -one cream, one sugaris the greatest reassurance that you will remember this story or feeling (maybe both).
A Night Out
Sydney Brooman Numbness in my jaw and throbbing ears flailing around in the dark for the sound of speech they can press against stepping on ice cubes and licking your lips too much flailing your frail body into the arms of something better than love
We are all one heartbeat pounding together in the flickering fluorescence and I hope we dream of one another when we go to bed tonight.