Soul Mates
Ashley Lande
“Dad, do you believe in soul mates?” I asked. His eyebrows raised behind the paper he was reading. “Well …” he began. His fingers
“Dad, do you believe in soul mates?” I asked. His eyebrows raised behind the paper he was reading. “Well …” he began. His fingers
For years, it was the longing that had no name, the longing that I wouldn’t allow myself to name. Denied, it took on ugly
My son hung his head. The words were flat, his voice weak and downcast. “God didn’t answer my prayer. Instead he just gave me
Envy: it’s the bone-rotter. The joy-corroder. Buzzkill. I feel it pervade as I look at photos of impeccably adorned, whitewashed Pottery Barnesque mantles, slapdash
Life just wasn’t making sense that day. I’d yelled at my kids, spoke harshly to my husband, and couldn’t seem to chip the resentment
For most of my life, anger terrified me. I thought it was merely the midwife to violence, the blinding catalyst for every act of
“Can I cry?” The deluge of tears and snot began, of course, before this terse sentence had even left my lips. I was mired
I stopped just shy of “dilapidated” when describing the house on the corner. The exterior looked as though it’d been threatening to shed its