Write About Touch

When I think about the word, ‘touch,’ a thousand memories flip through my mind. It’s like one of those kaleidoscopes I used to play with as a child, where you could turn the lens and suddenly specks of every color would fill your vision.

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When Someone Asked Me If I’m Defined By My Words

Recently someone asked me about my writing: Is it weird that you’re defined by what you write? And that question stopped me for a moment. I guess I never saw it that way.

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How Spending a Few Hours with a Two-Year-Old Can Change Your Life:

Today was not a good day. Okay, I won’t lie. Today sucked.

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On Memory

How do you know what will become a memory? A single moment, sitting at the corner seat of a wooden table in the downstairs classroom of library, your papers spread across the desk, handwriting liquid and frantic. How do you know that in six months you will still remember this?

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What We Carry

Look me in the eyes again. Tell me anything, the summer breeze blowing through those white blinds, the sausage and onion pizza you had for dinner last night, that you’re scared of spiders.

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Places to Run

I ran for the first time today on Florida ground. It was wonderful. I could feel each footfall on the sandy pavement. I took a breath and it was the fresh mid- seventies breeze covered by only a light humidity. The sky was light blue with feather-thin clouds, surreal.

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Fluid

Today I forgot my headphones when I went to the gym, which would have been catastrophic any other day, but for some reason, today was different. I chose one of the treadmills facing the pool, and as my feet set into rhythm, I watched the young swimmers dive in one by one.

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