Warm light pours in, stirs me, warming my face. Tears sting and tingle sun-kissed cheeks. Tiptoes. Craning up to fully see
By Gina Descarreaux3 years ago in Poets
“I’m sure she’s fine.” She was saying this as much to convince herself as she was her brother. “Just relax, ok? I’ll call you when I leave.” The strain of their relationship was evident in the clipped finality of the call.
By Gina Descarreaux4 years ago in Fiction
