grief

  • The man on the third floor

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    I think I fell in love with a man who’s mother learned Armenian for his father when she met him at twenty: a man who first piqued my interest because of the fact that he spoke Arabic, French, Armenian, Spanish and English— one more language than me! It’d be a disservice to my (nonexistent) children…

  • On puppy love and flings

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    Sitting on the world’s comfiest loveseat in the world’s coziest living room on the best street in Spain, I’m nestled between the cushion on my left and Nate’s crossed legs on my right. The blinds are up, the window is cracked open, and the sunlight is doing its thing for the clothes he just hung…

  • Dear G

    June 16, 2024 The first time I went to visit G, I sat next to a puddle that had iced over the foot of his grave. It was December, my first day back from Spain, and it had been a whole week since he was buried. I read aloud the letter I wrote to him…