Piled together watching cartoons–still not too big to snuggle. I hope you’ll remember this in twenty years. I hope it sustains you.

Sara Jackson is an author of speculative fiction and other disputable truths.

She married an attorney, pleased over the status it brought. When she learned about the adultery, she wanted them to sell the weekend home.

Norbert Kovacs lives and writes in Hartford, Connecticut.

Every time we meet you ask if I got new glasses. I thought we were better friends than that.

Alisa Golden tries not to make a spectacle of herself.

White rose petals, glasses of wine, a fading sunset—holding your hand through the streets of Paris, I knew I should’ve left you long ago.

Daniel Boyko is a writer. 

When he couldn’t find the remote, he thought, damn, she took that too.

Dorothy Kollat is a writer in Southern California and author of Broken Pieces.

He heard the door while showering. He chased him a block before realizing he felt the ground on his soles more than the love in his heart.

Keely Honeywell (@kahoneywell) writes and draws, like ya do.

They chatted about parties and unfair curfews as they fixed their hair in front of the mirror and the girl in the stall ate her lunch.

Andrea Lynn Koohi (@AndreaKoohi) is a writer from Toronto.

Its ring is shrill, yet Bettie ignores it, hoping that the caller (a daughter-in-law, or a son even) might visit instead.

Laura Besley writes fiction in the precious moments her children are sleeping.

We argue over what to call it, that place where the children die.

R. Gatwood is precise.

Since you died, two thoughts keep hitting me one after the other: “Wish you were here” and then “You didn’t want to be here.”

R. Gatwood is concise.