One day, I reached for it and it was gone…
Time, so boundless at first blush, is a shrinking prison, and it now seems to me ever more important to know the truth, to render the furrows ploughed into memory as accurately and authentically as possible.
How else can you know who you are?
If people realised how hard autistics have to work to connect, they’d understand… empathy is a two-way street.
When K and I decided to be together it turns out, looking back, neither one of us gave it a lot of thought…
Recently, the mere anticipation of writing has resulted in instant mental paralysis and thought desertion – until this morning when I spilt an entire cup of coffee; the second one in a fortnight. To put it succinctly, I lost my shit
Is it just me or does Ramadan seem to get more air-time and column inches with every passing year?