The Isle of Sin and Shadows

by Keri Lake

These days, I try to document as many moments as I can, because I’ve come to learn that the mind is not a reliable enough storyteller of the past. Its memories are an ever-changing landscape that moves and slides with time. Like a viscous liquid that can be poured into any shape.

I’ve found over the years that home is a fleeting thing. As temporary as the people who come and go in our lives.

Unrequited love tends to be a wound that festers into a raging sepsis, if not treated right away.

It isn’t right, the way my name on her lips strums a perfect chord, like a melody I could listen to on repeat.