The Grass Was Always Meaner The sod was still damp when I pressed it to the wall behind his desk.

I built a wall out of turf behind the Sixth Form Head's desk.
Not out of spite. Not exactly.

Just didn’t know where else to put the ache.

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If You Were Mine Before You Were You

“If You Were Mine” — a father writes the letter he knows will never be read.

On tough love, quiet reckoning, and the ache of what might’ve been.

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