Little Light of Mine
“Maybe the first prayers were just stories, talking out loud, speaking internally with closed eyes, or to our cousins around a fire. We had to share. Our voices were power…”
“Maybe the first prayers were just stories, talking out loud, speaking internally with closed eyes, or to our cousins around a fire. We had to share. Our voices were power…”
“I might turn into that pregnant summer stereotype “crabby, huge, and miserable” and don’t dare question me in this heat: “How are you pregnant during summer?” I’d punch someone today…”
I zoomed in on the phone screen, the app’s map clear as day said, “Frostie Freeze.” Eric’s tiny character, his bitmoji, was his exact match, a virtual representation of self. Every snap chatter had one, and we spent way too …