Her hair flies in the breeze. Shades of golden and hints of red, the light dances. She looks up at me and smiles. Her smile, like the Moon, cut in half. I stand, I stare I contemplate. What’s prettier? The Sun? The Moon? Or, You? This was written by our contributing writer, Shams Seraj.

Feelings are a weapon. Good news is, they don’t cut. Bad news is that they’re blunt. Your words don’t make me bleed. They pierce my skin and crush my bones. Resentment, anger, hatred. These are the things my mind wants me to feel. But this thing in my chest won’t allow me to.  You take…