The titles of workout videos have an urgent, rhythmic quality. Full Body Fat Blast, said over and over again, is like poetry.

I knew this will end soon. All writing is testament that it did.

Just let go. It’s time to move on. But for who?

If a tree falls in a forest, and there’s no one there to insta it, does it really fall?

It's satisfying to have hours and hours of work wrapped up into layers of buttery dough

April and May are months of sitting in the sun, and how that had become synonymous with shock: sunburnt, and dazed.

What if I forget my way home? What if I am lost like Biscuit?