Maybe home is not a rainbow, but a storm. Maybe home is accepting you forgot your rain jacket and letting the cold seep into your skin and awakening something, something, that lives within all of us.
Latest articles from Camille Lemire
I am not screaming, I am the scream.
I dream that I am Adam and he is Eve and I pluck this blue-eyed wonder from my ribs. Somehow, he is all heart and no bone and I would give every piece of me to make him happy. I dream of angering God and I wake up.
I was in sixth grade when I realized that I thought there was something beautiful about pain, and I hated myself for that.
For some reason, in all my favourite movies, all the moms are dead.
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