World

You probably don’t remember the first time you folded yourself into this shape. Maybe it was on a classroom carpet, […]

The bathroom is still fogged over when you step out—the mirror a ghostly blur, the tiles shining with tiny beads

The first time I took a handful of them to bed, I felt a little ridiculous. It was nearly midnight,

The afternoon light is kind and golden, slanting through your freshly wiped windows. The bed is made, the floor is

The first time I held a handful of it, I almost dismissed it as birdseed. Tiny, round, the color of

The first snow of the season falls quietly, the way soft secrets do. You open the door and the cold

The first time you really see condensation, you don’t just see it—you feel it. The faint chill against your fingertips

The first time you notice it is almost accidental. You’re standing in the bathroom, end of a long day, bare

The old man’s hands were what caught my eye first. Not his weathered face or the steam rising in fragile

The first thing you notice is the scratch. Not a pain exactly—more like a whisper at the back of your

The first time I saw them, they looked almost too small to matter—no bigger than tiny brown commas cupped in

The shower is still steaming when you catch your reflection in the mirror. Water beads along your collarbone, the scent

The first thing you notice is the sound. Not the birds, not the rustle of leaves, but the soft, deliberate

The pan was a crime scene. A thick amber gloss of cooling grease clung to its surface like melted plastic,

The morning she turned sixty-three, Agnes woke to the tiny, traitorous click in her right knee. It sounded like a

The sky is the soft gray-blue of early dawn when you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

The news arrived quietly, the way life-changing things sometimes do: a line in an astronomical bulletin, a date on a

The first time you see it, your stomach drops a little. There, cutting across the smooth black surface of your

The first sign is not in the forecast, but in the air itself. By late afternoon, the light outside your

The first cold weekend of the year arrived the way it always seems to: overnight and without an invitation. Rain

The first frost arrived quietly, settling itself over the lawn like a held breath. The flowerbeds stiffened into delicate sculptures