Stories Worth Telling. Rollick.

The idea of a soul mate wasn’t something I subscribed in. And his clumsiness sure as hell didn’t help. But at the age of 19, I was intrigued. As class ended, I grabbed my bag and hustled out the lecture hall. 

At first, the dreams were jagged and bewildering, like migraine lightning or a Dali canvas. Later, they softened into rolling scapes of sea or land, but always something sinister remained just beyond her vision.

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Maya puts away our coffee-cups – I’ll rinse them after our walk, along with the produce for lunch – and stands behind me, massaging my neck at the right spot. How did she know?

I saw everyone, having fallen short, on the ground. At last I joined Everyone, their force being much, and greeted the ground too. It’s comfortable there. Here.

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​​I am in denial. Two pink lines. 

I blink- squinting in the yellow bathroom light. I am expecting them to fade, to be a shadow, but they wink back at me, glowing- as if to say “I am here now.”

It was the second of June, two-thousand-and-two. Cal Jacobs sat in an uncomfortable rolling chair made of plastic and polyester, staring out the tenth floor window of his high-rise office building, wishing he was anywhere other than right there.

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