This Isn’t a Period
Written by:It’s my seventh day in Hamburg. I’m sitting on the bedroom floor, leaning against the closed door, and talking on FaceTime with a close friend. People down the corridor are about to go to sleep. Then he says, “Write. Notes. On Twitter. On Instagram.” And I ask, “why?” He responds, “Maybe, a person will read them and feel better for a second.” I have never thought that I …
