Writing what I live and see
Imet him on the street. No introduction. No last name. Just a smile wide enough to stop me midstep.He said he didn’t have a worry.I almost laughed. Almost. Because I’d walked out of my house that day hauling a full load—the kind of weight that doesn’t fit in a bag. Questions without answers. Grief that shows up uninvited. The particular ache of loving people you can’t fi...