Like cotton candy dipped in water, the prior year has dissolved into nothingness, but I, who have tasted its sweetness, can still feel its strawberry-flavored sugar on my tongue—and its sticky residue. I’ve been stretched and spun into delicate strands of heated sucrose; body temperature cool, yet internally melting under an eternal, radiant summer sun. I am gooey and compressed, clear, peach syrup. This past summer, the muse that echoes within me returned to the world—with a pen in her...

It rained today; on my birthday. It usually does. This morning, I watched the sun rise while lounging on a fluffy, throw pillow next to the glass doors leading into my garden. One door was slightly ajar, and the weather was chilly, but I was quite warm sipping hot, chai tea in my thick, white robe. I’ve always loved how the world smells when it rains, and time seemed to slow down as I watched water droplets dance atop my...

There’s a meme floating around which reads: “Someone once asked me, if you could go back in time, which era would you choose, and I laughed and said, ‘Honey, I’m Black.’” It’s meant to be satirical, but as a Black woman who’s deeply fascinated by the sultry glamour of Old Hollywood – from its Hollywood regency interior designs to the enigmatic actresses who dominated the silver screens – the shadowy truth of this statement hits home. As it pertains to...