No Rainbows Here By Jonathan Vivet
I’ve had this thunderstorm in my eyes for quite sometime. Not the gentle, loving type of kind. The summer kind. The whip up from nowhere uninvited kind. The ones that uproot all that you love, flooding the yard you played in as a child kind. The weatherman didn’t see this one coming. It was a picnic sort of day, he said. A light breeze at most. But the wind filled up the space where dreams once lurked and the rain took over again.
Her Eyes
By Joanne Mallari are like water reflecting my own questions— questions neither one of us has the answer to. But I am good at the wait, good at stalling over the precipice, and that feeling in my gut remains—that feeling of about-to-fall happening again and again.
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Opposite: Big Sur by Lucia Segura
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