White Christmas
Those five words belong to my sister. She said them often, without explanation, without a story behind them. I didn’t
We were somewhere between cork trees and the coast. The heat pressed through the open windows. A woman across the aisle began peeling an orange as if time were entirely
Those five words belong to my sister. She said them often, without explanation, without a story behind them. I didn’t
I Just want some peace. Those five words belong to my sister. She said them often, without explanation, without a