Train engine humming,
Heavy eyelids; doors closing.
A piercing whistle.
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I write less now
Sadness was my muse, I lived with her for decades she held me and cried with me in the dark, and I held her close, immortalized her in my wr...
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“Hey stranger!” Said a voice from my right side. It was a young man in a white tank top, beach shorts and flip-flops. He had a perfect...
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(This is an excerpt from 'The Path Not Taken', the last paper submitted for En 101.) My grandmother sits on her La-Z-Boy alone in t...
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I grew up riding the kalesa. They used to be found everywhere--well, at least in my little Chinatown district called Binondo. I used to ride...
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