Anybody else have a “one who got away?” Let me be clear, I love my husband and so thrilled that we ended up together and wouldn’t trade my husband and our marriage for anything. But the relationship I was in just prior to meeting my husband ended for reasons that had nothing to do with a lack of emotional compatibility and I think I will always think of him as “the one who got away.” I don’t really believe in soulmates. There are 8 billion people in the world, I gotta believe there are at least a few 100,000 I could live happily ever after with. And I, frankly, think it’s far more romantic to choose to be with a person than to have “fate” saddle you with them. But that does mean there is many a guy I could have lived happily ever after with and didn’t. And that means the “one who got a way” (potentially) is a real thing.

At Le Loir dans la Théière you corrected my French gently, tilting the vowels until the name settled properly in my mouth. You wore a woollen beige sweater. We ordered lemon meringue pie, and shared a single glass of wine. The café was quiet enough to hear a hairpin drop. Between spoonfuls of meringue in the dim January light I made you laugh. And so I took three photographs of you across the table. I thought they would keep you. But later someone else’s jealousy and my own uncertainty passed through my phone like a storm. The pictures vanished. So did the messages— from equinox to solstice, our clumsy tenderness archived and erased. I was twenty-three then. You stayed twenty-two. What I didn’t know was you would return to me in other forms. The first time was a year later— September 2019, a crowded birthday party. Someone speaking in the kitchen, Spanish from Buenos Aires falling into the room your cadence uncanny. For a moment the air disappeared. The second time was the summer of 2021 in my mother’s house— my brother walking past me wearing the cologne you used to wear, and suddenly you were everywhere. The third time was the only one I chose. Years later I began writing a story. I went looking for you in the corner of my memory where the photographs used to be. And slowly the table in Paris returned— and you’re sitting in front of me, when I was still the one, the lemon meringue pie, twenty-two; your beige sweater in the dim light. Patiently teaching me how to say things correctly as if language, like love, could keep a moment from disappearing. Then the glass shattered on the white cloth; everybody moved on. But I’m still twenty three inside the memory with you sitting in front of me.

Still Here, Still Whole Some mornings his shape is still in the room not him, just the outline where he used to stand, a color I haven’t finished fading yet. Loving him was red, burning maroon, the kind that doesn’t ask permission to hurt. Moving on is greyer than I thought it’d be, some days golden, some days nothing at all. I know I’m still caught in that doorway. I let myself know it without living only there. Because here is the mortar, warm from my hands. Here is the oil steeping amber in the window. Here is a stranger’s shaking voice on the phone, and me, saying tell me where it hurts and meaning it for both of us. I can’t fix my own color yet. But I can still mix medicine for someone else’s, still find the right words, still listen like presence itself was a remedy. Grief sits in the corner while I work. It reaches for me on ordinary days. I let it, then go back to the tending the herbs, the sentence, the person across from me. I don’t know when I’ll walk out of that doorway. But my life is good, plainly, unperformed — full of colors I’m still learning to hold, red and grey and gold, all at once, all mine.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ex? No, he is not my ex, not my past, not my enemy. He is the guy I once loved with every piece of my heart. The one I dreamed of forever with. He is the guy that taught me what love feels like both beautiful and painful. He’s the reason I cried, the reason I smiled, the reason I believed in love. Maybe he’s no longer mine, but in the quiet corners of my heart, he will always remain my greatest love story.

Week six of my Method Acting training. I think I’ve found my sweet spot, it’s deeper than I expected. Endless unlearning, trusting myself to show up and experience whatever happens, however I feel. Three characters in, and I’ve only just begun. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I hear my voice, and so does everyone else. What a feeling. Between work and life, I’ve never felt more overwhelmed. But choosing to make time for this has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. The grip has loosened, and the lights feel like home.

and looking out he saw two birds, identical, beautiful, red and in a blush, singing in praise of spring eternal on the hands of Grace pure and sacral. they chirped there, glad to be all alone before the pink clouds like a sea, heralding the days of joy, of plenty, of wealth, the months of merriment, beauty, and coming of good health. the news comes in the voices of beasts to the hearts of lovers hiding in the mists of winter slowly receding before the timid passion now beginning.

Two days ago a car drove into the Pride crowd in my city. A woman is dead 💔 I live in Berlin. And since that day I keep coming back to something a blogger said: "Poisonous believe of having to tolerate the intolerant." That's the spot queer people end up in, again and again. My first reaction was: enough. Stop tolerating. But the more I sit with it, the more I think tolerance was never the problem. Tolerance toward people, toward faith, toward difference - that's exactly what queer people are asking for themselves. You can't demand it and refuse it at the same time. To be clear: this is not about Muslims. Not about Christians. Not about any group of people. Most people in this city, whatever they believe, just want to live their life in peace. The problem is naivety toward ideologies. Islamism. Christian fundamentalism. Right-wing extremism. Whatever flavor it comes in - every ideology that wants queer people gone. Being "open" toward that isn't tolerance. It's negotiating your own existence. Because here's the part I can't get past: I don't know a single queer person who attacks anyone for what they believe or how they live. It only ever runs the other way. And that woman didn't die because queer people were too tolerant. She died because a known extremist was walking free. It's not the job of a minority to get harder. Holding that line is the state's job. That's what it's for. I don't have this sorted. I'm not sure anyone does right now. So I'm asking: Where does tolerance end for you - and who's supposed to hold that line? No pressure. But the uncomfortable answers are welcome too.

so i won a month of grindr unlimited free- (which don’t get me wrong, is great!) but now every time i go onto the app, i feel the strange and thoroughly irrepressible urge to send ‘hey handsome~’ messages to every (even remotely) rugged guy in the country. ignoring the fact that i have no level of self control or respect…it’s so freaky to see all the features they gatekeep from everyone, like…they really do just make the ui of that app hell for everyone on purpose, don’t they?

A month ago, on June 4th, I was diagnosed with cancer. It has been one of the most unexpected and life-changing experiences of my life. Some days are harder than others, but I’m taking things one step at a time. I’m hoping to connect with people who have gone through, or are currently going through, a similar journey. Sometimes it helps to talk with someone who truly understands what this experience feels like. If you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, are in treatment, or are a survivor, I’d love to hear your story, share experiences, and support each other. No one should have to face this alone. 🥺🫂

I don’t know if this is the place for a little poetic theme. Feels like I need to get this out. Eighteen Months Eighteen months ago, something in me went quiet. Not the kind of quiet that heals. The kind that hollows. I have buried people I loved and grieved them true, but nothing prepared me for this. A loss with no casket, no ceremony, just an absence that keeps unpacking its bags and staying. I keep waiting for the version of me that laughs without checking first if it’s allowed to. I don’t know if he’s coming back. I only know I’m still here, still breathing through the parts that don’t make sense yet.

How to get into gayming and the cunty skins paving the way If you’ve spent most of your life avoiding gaming because it felt a little too straight and a little too serious, 2026 has a surprise for you. Gayming has officially entered the villa, and it’s a lot camper than anyone expected. The gateway drug? The new Marvel Rivals summer skins. A "beach twink" Spider-Man and a "Mama Loki" rocking a killer one-piece? They’re calling for us. Honestly, it makes the whole experience cheekier, stylish, and a lot more fun. The gateway to parallel play One of the best things about getting into a game like Marvel Rivals is that it’s a brilliant way to meet people you might never come across in your usual circles. It’s the ultimate form of "parallel play." And no, that isn’t what you think ;) You can hop on a call with a multi-player partner or a full troupe of six, and suddenly you’re hanging out with the ease of a joint activity. It’s a social anchor that lets you let out a bit of stress while building a genuine connection. Plus, once you’ve found your rhythm in the hero shooter world, it’s an easy side-step into two-player adventure games where you can really dive into the lore together. Vibe-checking your way past the toxicity We’ve all heard the horror stories about toxic straight gaming culture, but the move for 2026 is simple: block, delete, and game on with your gals. You don’t have to fuel the fire of straight gamers who take things too seriously. You just have to destroy them on the map and move back to your queer circles. Collective is the perfect tool for this vibe-check. It allows you to find other gaymers before you even start the match. Whether you’re an illustrator looking to share some character art of the new skins or just someone who wants to yap while playing as Miss Jubilation Lee, the app makes it easy to find your tribe. Low stakes, high aesthetic The best part about this new hobby is that your skill level doesn’t actually matter. Getting more skilled is just a plus; the real goal is the connection. Imagine the scene: your lounge room is lit by lamps and candles, you’ve got a bottle of Pet Nat open, and you’re playing a few rounds with a friend you met on Collective. It’s a much healthier way to be social than mindless scrolling. Every character in Marvel Rivals has an element of queer energy, and finding the one that matches your frequency is the first step toward building a new social circle. How to find your squad on Collective If you’re ready to cuntify your gameplay, the move is to update your Collective profile. Add "Gayming" to your interest tags and be loud about which characters you’re maining. Which games are you currently obsessed with? It’s high time to find the people who want to share that side quest with you.

Where to find a bi+ community online If you’re bisexual, pansexual, or anywhere under the bi+ umbrella, you already know the struggle of having most of the internet trying to pull you into a binary. On Big Tech platforms, you’re either being flattened into a straight-coded box or told you aren’t "queer enough" for the community. Biphobia and erasure aren’t just annoying, they’re exhausting. Finding your people takes moving from toxic comment sections and joining a kinder Collective ;) Get out of the bi+ desert Platforms like Instagram and X are notorious for failing the community. Whether it is the suppression of queer content or the rampant hate speech that goes unchecked, these feeds have become entertainment loops rather than social spaces. For bi+ folks, if you aren't performing your identity in a way that the algorithm understands, you simply don't exist. This is why independent social media apps are essential. Collective was built as a defiant alternative to the corporate models. It is queer-owned and human-led, meaning no algorithmic tricks trying to sanitize your identity for a boardroom of straight executives. What does bi+ belonging feel like to you in 2026? Head to the Discussions tab and tell us your story of finding a community that doesn't ask you to choose a side.