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The Last Supper
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by
Peter Stella
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Flying felt like hope, and hope felt like flying. You handed me plane tickets, and my heart sheepishly agreed. We leapt through puddles of s...
My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand.
—
by
Peter Stella
on
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"It went horribly." Oliver said before Charlotte could even ask how his job interview went. Charlotte walked over to him until her...
The Lost Boy
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by
Peter Stella
on
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The pages were doused with pixy dust. They left glitter in my hands and yours. Nothing mattered because we mattered. The lost boy was found ...
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