Reading. Writing. Me.
After a while, people stop wanting to hear about what you've been through. And I feel guilty talking about it half the time anyway, because I doubt my memories, and even when I stand firm, people still don't believe me. My birth family surely doesn't. They called me a liar, a lover of drama and... Continue Reading →
Tim and I randomly drive into New York to play tourist. I think I'm afraid that someday soon our life will come into focus and we'll end up moving to Kentucky or something and I won't have access to Central Park anymore. New York is dynamic, constantly changing and shifting. It never looks the same... Continue Reading →
R. C. Svendsen 