Some nights when the clock strikes midnight. Some days in the early hours of dawn, when I am asleep and also awake, I feel an intense icy wind stir.
Like the inside of a vast cave that resides inside a forest, the wind fills my bare insides, stirs the sharp vacant space.
In these times, the hollowness is palpable; a forever stamp of what this body will never bear.
Sonia Chintha is an Indian American writer who lives in the Washington DC area. She blogs, writes poetry, and fiction. She is also an English teacher who believes that our experiences teach us more than any test. She is the founder and co-editor of Good Little Girls.
How to play the game: Stay calm, be persistent, but also find a way in, a crack, a sliver, a baby inconsistency and start there
Each sunny day, I jog downstairs with my lunch bag and sit at the same park bench in the courtyard. The one drenched in sunlight;
I lower my chest and inhale everything blurs the white line in front of me, the screaming crowds. My heartbeat slows and suddenly it’s all