I had just signed the lease on my apartment. I was an adult now. Naturally, I did what every reasonable adult would do. I climbed the Rocky steps, sat on the topmost stair, and cried. That August afternoon was hot. People on the steps would have mistaken my tears for sweat. Fortunately, my emotions evaporated […]
I stand in front of Diana’s bench. It’s my bench now. I’m a Diana, too. Not the Diana, of course, but that’s my name nonetheless. For me, this monument to love resembles nothing of the kind. It’s just a pile of rocks, crumbling after centuries of abuse and neglect.