The Wishful Drinker

I am wholly convinced a day at the beach should be considered a form of therapy in itself. I spent the majority of the day basking beneath the warm embrace of the sun with a…

Somewhere 30,000 feet in the clouds on a red-eye flight to Barcelona, I made a friend. I couldn’t consider her a friend in the traditional sense of the word. In truth, I don’t know where…

Sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs, so loudly that the earth rattles below my feet, so thunderously that cracks start to weave through the streets and swallow cars and houses…

In a dimly lit bar somewhere in New York, the words I Still Love You are scribbled hastily on a bathroom wall. I wrote these words for you. They rest inconspicuously amongst a sea of…

I’ve never claimed to be a fan of it. I’m a writer, I like words, and trap music eliminates the need for comprehensible lyrics. Which is fine, because I’m pretty sure I already know what…