The Black Cloak
My depression clung to me like a black lead cloak. A clasp held the cloak to my shoulders, bound by a lock for which I had no key. I've had various bouts of
Mastering the Art of the Pause
I'm learning to wander. My Media and Society class did a required media fast. When the fast was announced, a room full of communication students turned into defense attorneys. I smiled and held
Just a Mom
She hobbled, bent out of shape, like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. My heart tightened in my chest as I watched my mom struggle with a movement we take for granted: walking. I