Tiny Love Stories: ‘Just Like Me, but Hotter’


After a horrible 12 months (I used to be attacked in my residence then suffered by a tough divorce), my aged mother and father visited and helped me pull the ivy that had swallowed my yard. My father stated, “Don’t let that take over again, Irene.” Ten years later, whereas grappling with cussed regrowth, I discovered dad’s hat — gnarled, mouse nibbled, rotted. I’d been lacking him fiercely, wishing he have been nonetheless right here to information me. Not one for assigning religious that means to coincidence, I’ll take this specific faucet on the shoulder. Thanks for taking good care of me, dad. I’ll care for the ivy. — Irene Ziegler

Lacking your flight isn’t enjoyable. However then, there she was. Lauren had additionally missed her connection to Madrid. She was, as I later described to a buddy, “just like me, but hotter!” Each biracial, wine and dialog lovers, with moms who produced Latin dance occasions, we spent each evening in Madrid collectively. I jokingly referred to as her “wifey” even earlier than we turned companions. I had by no means fallen for a girl earlier than — an expertise equally terrifying and liberating. In that airport ten years in the past, we departed on a journey that may take us around the globe and again to ourselves. — Isabella Copeland

“We aren’t romantic enough” he stated, mendacity bare subsequent to me. “But I feel safe and comfortable with you,” I replied, realizing what he meant however not keen to surrender a future collectively. I wouldn’t have the ability to persuade him to remain, however I might not less than guilt him into staying the evening. The subsequent morning, wrapped in one another’s arms, I stated, “I wish you had changed your mind in the middle of the night and woken me up to tell me; now that would have been romantic.” “I wish that, too” he stated after which left. — Helen Dai

I generally want for a museum of childhood. A sanctuary that holds the matted frog blanket, the plastic golf membership, the sugar milk exhale of slumber. I want for a shelf to retailer nuzzled neck rolls, or a podium to put the giddy shrieks that come from operating in a doughnut costume. Heavy shoulder rides and naps on my chest don’t occur anymore, however my physique remembers. I want for a museum of childhood, perpetually open, in order that I might sit on a bench and simply marvel on the ache. — Kelly Q. Anderson


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