That’s something my mom and I have in common; in times of crisis, we do what we can for others.

Its honesty demanded my honesty, and I found that notion to be both beautiful and terrifying.

The figure in the casket was that of my grandfather, yet I did not know him, and for that I resented him terribly.

Horrors tailored to your Fordham Lincoln Center experience.

The bone crypt that cages my veins feels of something rotten.

When I try to think of the happiest I've ever been, I'm out on the open water.

My mother has this theory on relationships that I don’t quite understand.

The heart of cynicism is disappointed idealism, which can always be renewed.

I have always been single. I’m not particularly bothered by this fact.

But the plan changed, and it no longer mattered what was intended.