“Four months, ‘four months,’ he kept saying”… the time constraint for the data to be reviewed rings loudly.

Four months, four months, 120 days give or take. End of July subtract four months, end of March? April 3rd if we calculate from today — dead center between the beginning of the pandemic and the date I finally achieved gainful employment, a solid 4–0 per week.

Hindsight is always…

Each emotion starts the same. A tension just below the solar plexus, it spirals in you taking grasp of your lungs and moving into the back of your throat begging you to scream. The urge to scream, however, triggers the part of a broken mind trained through years of trauma…

“Did you move up here for him?”
“Are you moving in together when you get there?”
“I bet you’ll be married and pregnant within the year.”

In the May of 2010, a young, emaciated Darci drove her 2000 Nissan Maxima up into the hills of High Country, North Carolina for…

We’re writing today.

We’re writing because the water is off.

We’re writing because I just need my phone to come on so I can send an email so that I can secure a new place to live.

We’re writing because this beer is almost finished and I can’t decide whether…

Gravity fights to hold us steady as the void between us grow, like a hydraulic in the river, my oxygen feels displaced. There’s no room for the energy building in my spirit, and as usual, I’m not quite sure if I’m perceiving or creating what I see.

A great force…

Darci Ann Burdett

Struggling millennial with a tendency to rant on delicate topics, with comma splices.

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