My Life as Told by Shayfer James and His Strange Ability to Read my Mind
The two times I saw Shayfer live this year, he played “God Forbids,” and both times I got held by friends while I cried.
The two times I saw Shayfer live this year, he played “God Forbids,” and both times I got held by friends while I cried.
The answer is “yes,” Sir Elton John. I could feel the love that night.
It’s hard to deny there’s something that I miss, even if it doesn’t make sense to me.
I remembered my baptism when I dipped my hand in the frigid blue water of a glacier, when I felt mist clinging to my face and dampening my clothes, when I watched the graceful, floating powdered sugar descent—deceptively powerful—of waterfall after waterfall after waterfall.
Southwest assumed the best of its passengers and treated them like smart, capable people. And we rose to the occasion.
I’m obsessed with the context that traveling by land brings to my destination, in a similar way that visiting a friend in their hometown is such a joy.
I wrote a play, how cool is that?
They drove off to their honeymoon in the same car he used to drive in college.
God the Creator, Mitsubishi the Manufacturer.
I lie and say that I’ve bought chairs and they’ll take a while to ship. The dust settles in my cart again.