At last, I texted him the truth: I have bipolar disorder. I’m in a hypomanic episode. I’m really not feeling well, I can’t stop crying. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry...

I imagine the letter got stuck somewhere in the desert, and some camel ate it.

As if he were some seasonal pollen that gets stuck up my nose and reminds me what time it is, every year at the beginning of spring it all flashes back and I’m right there again in that sticky

“If you desire something,” she said, “ask for it with honesty and clear communication. Then accept the answer you receive, whatever it may be.”

It still bugs me that I never understood why she’d seen Hadestown eleven times (our first date was her twelfth).

“We come here once a month,” the woman added. “To spice things up.”

            If Miami were a person, she would have veneers from the same dentist who does her Botox

Michelle understood my frustration. She diagnosed Peter with “terminal vagueness” and agreed it wasn’t my job to financially support him.

It was the summer of 2018, and I had just returned home to California from Italy, where my relationship exploded after we had lived together for only four months.

Perhaps this is why trans people crave romantic love with a curdling, obscure undercurrent of self-doubt, of rage.

I’ve been on a lot of dates. I don’t consider myself an expert, but I can tell you how to get asked on a second: be as mysterious as possible, ask as many questions about the person as you can, let

I had been seeing this girl, Shelby, for about a month when I got married. To someone else.

The summer after graduating college sank me into a deep depression. Most of my friends moved out of

I stare into the drive-thru order box, the cars behind me now three deep.

Decision fatigue. That’s what my therapist calls it. Decision fatigue must be what renders me silent in the Taco Bell

“We’re watching Bluey,” I say. “And we’re starving,”

I sit in my flat and stare at my phone and try to weigh up the risks of calling, weigh up my own exhaustion with life

I am always wearing one of Freddy’s shirts. They are worn in perfectly and covered with jazz players on the front or artists that older people always recognize—artists I don’t really know anything about.

Foreshadowing!

I paid that dollar, mostly because I wanted an excuse to talk to him.

I could hear the Essex lads cooing and whispering to her, telling her that it would be okay

The second time I gave him head he couldn’t get hard. He said this never happens.

Not all her parties were sex parties and she didn’t always call me her girlfriend, but we rode that late summer into an Autumn of mostly lesbian orgies. Sabine driving the car, everyone else an

I should have called out, “Marry me,” followed by your name, in that quarter-second of dead air.
Nothing too prosaic, nothing too provocative, just four beats, a stunted swirl of “M”s and “R”s.
My

Chronic illness already made dating hard. And then the pandemic arrived.

“I almost forgot—” my childhood friend interjected as we were wrapping up a phone call on a blustery September day. “I

When reciting the Ten Plagues in Hebrew, we customarily dip our knives into our wine glass for each plague and set a drop of wine on our dinner plate.

Do we keep our husbands’ secrets,
or distribute them like sweets 
amongst ourselves?