The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.


I am everywhere.    Even after I am gone; I linger in your hair, on your clothes, your skin.   I get into places you don’t expect me to, I permeate your every nook and cranny.    I perfume with my heady scent, just enough to make your head spin pleasantly.     I am delightful, familiar, comforting.

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An Honest Mistake.

You don’t deserve the endearments I would give you.  You don’t deserve the things I would make you. You don’t deserve the letters which I would hand write you, nor the handmade cards. You don’t deserve the date nights, phone calls or text messages. You don’t deserve me going out of my way, the extra mile, to

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