Positively Alive

Dear You, I don’t know who you are or when I’ll meet you but I’m getting better at discerning who isn’t you. The imposters are like little mice looking for cheese and I have to wrestle with myself so hard to accept that they aren’t anything different. They always end up the same: onlookers at

Being-Towards-Death

Dear You, I’ve become something like an ancient Egyptian and this is my Book of the Dead. Everything I do now is for the afterlife. I’ve given up hope that I’ll ever be recognized, appreciated or regarded in this life (and I’m officially too lazy to continue striving for such). That may sound sad or

Sous Les Paves, La Plage

Dear You, I’ve been called many things in my life, but so far my favorite has been Houdini. As a toddler, I had a penchant for escaping my crib—and ’til this day no one knows how I got out. This small childhood gesture expressed a larger feeling that has always driven me: the need to