Monthly Archives: September 2017

Today, no, it’s been days, I feel like Frida. Not Frida, the artist, but Frida, the woman. Maybe I need a Tequila.

He comes and goes. She comes and goes. They come and go. Those legs, those faces, and that gaze. That gaze stays. But I tell you, it is actually fake, that gaze.

A boy hurried toward the school gate, dragging a school bag one third of his body size and possibly too heavy for his size, panting and sweating. He was late for school. The very first day of the semester. He … Continue reading →