20-something year old writer From Los Angeles, CA. Vegan. Skin Care Business Owner. Loves Marvel, long naps on the beach, and ignoring texts. www.BrelonEssentials.com
Sorry I Forgot To Write
Dear A, I know it’s been months. Please don’t be mad at me. These past few days I’ve let time get away from me. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn to hours, hours to days, days to weeks and eventually, I’ve found myself drafting this letter to you. I’m not even sure I’ll send it. To be honest, I’ll write this, and knowing me, it’ll probably just sit in my Gmail drafts folder for another six months until I have the courage to send it. I know that isn’t fair to you. You’ve been attentive to me for years—never leaving my side even when Buster died. You were really there then. But for the sake of transparency, and for not prolonging this even more than I already have, I’m just going to rip the bandaid off like a big girl. So here it goes.
The Next Wave
On an unusually quiet day like today, when the waves are crashing on the shore just right and the birds have all flown south for the winter, I can almost hear my mother’s singing. My mother loved to sing. She was a soft soprano, like Minnie Ripperton, and on days like this, I’m never sure if it’s actually her or just my memory of her.
As First Dates Go...
The colors on the wall seemed to take on a life of their own, enveloping the couple in rays of pinks and blues. It seemed to represent them perfectly: their love was a baby blue, new and unsure, and their circumstance was a deep dark red, brooding and uncertain.
Jonie would have taken a bullet for her husband, but she no longer liked him. She loved Tripp, and part of her was sure he loved her back, but he frequently shut her out, opting instead to spend longer hours at work and with his friends. She didn’t think he was cheating, the signs weren’t there, he was a good person and he never hit her. Of course, he was a sniper with his words, like the one time he blamed her for her own miscarriage. But at least he remembered all the important dates. Except March 22nd; that was the first important date he’d forgotten in 15 years of marriage. Not only was March 22nd Jonie’s birthday, but it was the day she was supposed to receive her Brilliant Minds In Science Award. The night would have been perfect had Tripp actually showed up.
I’m Rooting For Everyone Black With Plants
After failing to receive an Emmy nomination for her widely popular series Insecure, Issa Rae boldly and beautifully attended the 2017 Emmy Awards in support of other hopeful creatives, looking to secure that coveted award. Adorned in a gorgeous red Vera Wang gown, she confidently stood in front of the reporter prepared to share this supportive mentality with the world. At the reporter’s indicative pause, Issa Rae uttered the phrase that would shake social media, for about a month or two: “I’m rooting for everybody Black”
P.S. I HATE You: The Ultimate Step-by-Step Guide to Boycotting Valentines, Love and Other Mushy Crap
Let’s face it: February 14th kinda sucks, especially for, but not limited to, us singles. Aside from the obvious fact that we save a bunch of money not buying gifts, we have to spend all day getting Spotify recommendations for love playlists and seeing everyone’s newest boo thang on our Instagram feed. The only thing that kinda makes up for it is the obviously superior day, February 15th: Half-Off Candy Day. That is, until now.
When Netta’s father failed to return home from his excavation trip after 6 years, Netta was full of questions. When her father’s attorney called saying her family had decided to split his estate and divide his assets, the questions only multiplied. Netta didn’t want most of her inherited fortune. The hidden beach house in Miami he left her was sold to a shady but generous businessman. The dozens of priceless antiques were donated to a museum. The $20,000, however, Netta would use to buy her plane ticket to Cocoah Island: the Island her father was born and raised on; the place he lived until he was 15 and visited trip after trip until the time of his disappearance.