Childhood
Word of the Day: 潜る
My story is sort of different than the way of water. In some ways it is the opposite. I was born near the beach, then we came to the forest. But really, I have been here so long, and I have different traumas around that so, I can't even claim that as much anymore, can I?
By Kayla McIntoshabout a month ago in Confessions
1 in 3. Content Warning.
When I was teenager a hot topic between friends was “first time” stories. I was 13 when I gathered in a group circle shivering with the girls. The cold air nipped our noses, but the conversation was steaming. We were waiting for the doors to open at school and listened attentively as one of the girls spun a yarn about how romantic the night of the winter dance had been. They spent the whole dance/ activity night on the dance floor. Bumping and grinding, dry humping like untrained pups but there was slow dancing thrown in too. We stood beneath the curious, leafless red maple. The girls licked their lips and gawked as our friend spoke. I was uncomfortable that day. Partly because my converse were shit in the snow and now, my socks had become soaked from the icy slush on the sidewalks and partly because of the conversation, but I listened in anyway. And partly because the night before I was invaded by an unwelcome creep and I could still feel throbbing between my thighs.
By Theresa M Hochstineabout a month ago in Confessions
Letters to the Grave
Have you ever felt the pull of the past—that quiet ache to return to the crossroads where words were left unsaid? Not to chase the echoes of the dead, but to face the living ghosts we carry—the ones who walked out of our days, or slipped from our minds, or were cut away like threads no longer meant to weave our story. These are the conversations that haunt the quiet moments, letters addressed to absences, sent to the spaces where people once stood before time, distance, or choice turned them into shadows.
By Jackie Fazekasabout a month ago in Confessions
The Unopened Letter: What We Never Tell Our Parents and Why the Silence Lasts Forever. AI-Generated.
There is a letter you will never write. It lives inside you, fully formed, every word chosen, every sentence complete. In this letter, you tell your parents everything. Not the edited version, not the polite version, not the version that protects their feelings and your safety. The truth. All of it. The gratitude you have never known how to express. The wounds you have carried since childhood. The ways they shaped you, for better and worse. The person you have become, in all its complexity, and how much of that becoming traces back to them. The love you feel, so deep it terrifies you. The anger you have swallowed, so old it feels like part of your bones. The forgiveness you want to offer, if only they would ask. The understanding you long for, if only they could see.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Confessions
