“under his dark eye-lids” by Julia at her desk

Thursday April 11, 2019
10:23pm
5 minutes
Faces Of The Sun-Man
Rienzi Crusz

He’s staying up late again eating stale Cheetos cause somehow that makes him feel better. He is bothering himself and it’s punishment, maybe for letting himself get this alone. Loneliness is worse when you hate yourself on top of it.

The Cheetos in the bag turn his fingers fuzzy. He is careful not to smear them on any of the furniture. She wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. Too bad she’ll never know one way or the other what he’s up to since she broke his heart into a shape that no longer fits inside his chest.

He thinks about wiping them underneath him, just to see. And maybe to spite her. Who buys a white couch anyway? Stupid fucking white couch. This is a place where liars sit, he thinks to himself. This is where liars pretend they’re going to be just fine.

“Everyone deals with breakups” by Julia on her bed

Saturday March 23, 2019
6:39pm
5 minutes
Love Running
Joseph Holt

Maggie got her heart crushed again. Did you see her leaving the cancer benefit? She was wasted. Nobody is a better friend to that girl than the bottle. She was supposed to give a speech too, but she made Alison deliver it on her behalf and told her to tell everyone she had a medical emergency. I don’t know if she keeps going for the same types of women—you know, the ones who disappoint her— or if she’s stretching herself thin and she’s actually the hard one to love. Everybody goes through it but somehow she’s enduring another breakup every month. Maybe she should just be by herself for a while and figure out what she wants. And if she stops working a little bit so at least they have time to really get to know her before they dump her.

“ready for the feel of fire” by Julia at her desk

Monday, February 19, 2018
11:51pm
5 minutes
All Things Wasting
Mallory Tater

The last time I spoke to him I lied and said I had roasted his favourite shoes over the open fire. I told him I made chestnuts out of them. He believed me. I guess that’s saying something about me. About him, sure, but about me first because I must be pretty convincing. I suppose he has good reason. Once when we were laying in a sleeping bag somewhere in Tobermory, I said I’d stab him if he let go of me and when he did, so did I. Stab him, I mean. It was only a little, and he bled but not for long, but I said I would do it and I did it and that’s when he started to get a little scared of me. Even if it was only my thumb nail piercing his upper thigh. He’s entitled to his opinions. He can think I’m whatever he thinks, but I would never actually roast somebody’s shoes on a fire. I’m not a monster. He didn’t even respond right away when I told him I did it. He took a few long breaths and then said that was all he could take for right now. I think that was a tactic his therapist told him to practice. I don’t think he would have thought of those words on his own.

“we’ve never properly met though.” by Julia on her couch


Sunday April 2, 2017
9:12pm
5 minutes
from a text

Cara breaks up with Ian because he always forgets to call her when he finishes work. She doesn’t like that he goes straight to the bar without mentioning where he’s going or when he’ll be home. She’s done having dinner ready for him but still eating alone.
Lydia breaks up with Dawn because she never wants to have sex with her. She doesn’t like begging for it, and she doesn’t want Dawn to feel uncomfortable. She’s done feeling like she’s asking for too much from her girlfriend, whom she loves and lives with.
Greg breaks up with Julie because he cheated on her and doesn’t know how to trust her if he can’t trust himself. He doesn’t want to hide it and he doesn’t want to tell her. He’s done pretending like things are fine when he’s responsible for making things..not that way

“Flowers for Mama” by Sasha at Cafe Novo


Wednesday June 5, 2013 at Cafe Novo
3:26pm
5 minutes
from the Public Sketchbook Project at Cafe Novo

She’s having one of those days that begins with a knot in the throat, the memory of the break-up, the break-out, the night before. Then the day floats towards breakfast, on a cloudy patio, alone, sucking egg yolks out of sunny-side-up spots, dipped hashbrowns in hot sauce. Somewhere around two in the afternoon the day veers a bit off course, if it was ever on any course to begin with, and she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirrored glass on Bathurst, north of Bloor. Fuck mirrored glass, fuck having to see yourself at your worst and being forty five minutes from home. She forgot that she was wearing yesterday’s clothes. She forgot that she’d cut her own bangs last night, swigging from the bottle of tequila, finally drawing hearts on her cheeks with her most antique tube of pink lipstick that had belonged to her deceased aunt Dorothy. Luckily, she’d left her phone at home because now, at a few minutes after two, she would absolutely text her lost love and see what he might be up to. She would definitely call her lost love when he didn’t respond, and she would certainly lose all last remaining dignity when she snotted all over the sidewalk and fell to her knees, crying, “have mercy, Benjamin!”