And It Looks Like All My Dreams
We’ve drunk wassail and hot cocoa from festive mugs, and we’ve streamed virtual concerts in gaudy sweaters.
We’ve drunk wassail and hot cocoa from festive mugs, and we’ve streamed virtual concerts in gaudy sweaters.
There’s no cosmic explanation, for better or worse.
Added bonuses: a man confessing his love to an elevator, and the theme song is one of the cheesiest Christmas tunes of all time.
And so a gulf remains. There are parts of her I simply cannot know.
I decide that since I was already not going to do a classic NaNo, I might as well break some other rules.
You can do shorthand and reductive stereotypes for fans of a lot of modern rock bands of the late 1990s or 2000s, but what is a Foo Fighters fan?
In “No Heaven,” my words are basically a prayer and a wake-up call. I want to dedicate my healing to the healing of others whenever possible.
The unheard deserve hearing, the unsafe deserve safety, the forgotten deserve our imagination.
“Wanna see the view from my deer blind, Ms. Boersma? I actually get pretty good Wi-Fi out here.”
But at least I know if an acceptance mailed to an offeror is binding even if the offeror has already sent a revocation that the offeree hasn’t yet received (it is)!