Verve Books

Its scars are worn now; the years have smoothed them to dark ripples in the golden wood.

They stood for a long time like that, his weight heavy on her. When her back began to ache, she eased him away, kissing him in solace. His cheeks were soft, like a baby’s.

He made her feel safe. He did. But something about the burglary niggled at her.

every man was a prince – until he was a liar, or a pervert, or a nutcase

Their white plastic earbuds override the sound of real life, their faces buried in their screens. They do not speak or make eye contact. They aren’t really here. The train is full of husks.

Their white plastic earbuds override the sound of real life, their faces buried in their screens. They do not speak or make eye contact. They aren’t really here. The train is full of husks.

presses the life out of me

Maybe there must always be two of us—our real selves and the ones we create to survive in the world as it is.

Maybe there must always be two of us—our real selves and the ones we create to survive in the world as it is.

Maybe there must always be two of us—our real selves and the ones we create to survive in the world as it is.