Fourteen days ago I moved out of my apartment into a house with my boyfriend. For the past almost-three years I had lived alone in the confines of three rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, and livingroom/kitchen/diningroom/office.

Fourteen days ago I moved out of my apartment into a house with my boyfriend. For the past almost-three years I had lived alone in the confines of three rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, and livingroom/kitchen/diningroom/office.

I am now, sort of, working on my third dissertation. Again, sort of. And I’m not even scheduled to take my oral exams until the latter part of next September.

Skin
by Emily Churilla
I have an obsession with skin. It is an obsession with its colors and textures, the freckles that lay scattered across it, the scars it holds, its pliancy under one’s fingers, and especially its scent.


How do you tell someone that their existence, however infinitesimal it may be to the cosmos, makes this life, this space here on earth, infinitely more worth living?