Why I Make Myself Run (And Hate It)

With rain, my sweat and the drizzle coalesce into one wet kiss on my face. The salty sweat, acid rain, acid perspiration – holy rain – down my face, erasing, dissolving, streaming down and through the layers of grime and fat.

An Open Letter To My Friend Who’s Dating The Loser

The term by which you refer to him – The Boyfriend – is so revealing. “Can’t talk now, I’m Skyping The Boyfriend.” Not once have I heard you speak of him by his first name, though you’ve been dating long enough for us to be familiar with it.