Tiny Love Tales: ‘My Lesbian Hallmark Christmas Movie Fantasy’

Tiny Love Stories: ‘My Lesbian Hallmark Christmas Film Fantasy’

The primary winter I noticed snow was the primary winter I fell in love. I’ve all the time adored the vacations, however rising up in Florida meant I by no means skilled the “White Christmas” dream. After shifting to Dallas, I began relationship a lady who labored on a Christmas tree lot throughout the road from my condominium. Marleana would come over, smelling of pine, her arms toned from all of the lifting. She was my lesbian Hallmark Christmas movie fantasy. She even owned a shiny pink truck that we drove in to search out snow. Her Christmas present this yr? An engagement ring. — Hannah Melin

In Kolkata, “I really like you” is just not stated usually, and definitely to not dad and mom. It’s thought of excessive; translated into Bengali, it could sound mawkish. I improvise once I name my dad and mom in India from my condominium in New York. “I want I had your tenacity,” I inform my mom. I reward my father’s compassion. “Want you have been right here” is the furthest I enterprise. Yesterday, when my mom stated that she longed to see me and her voice faltered, I blurted out these three phrases. The center grows fonder when dad and mom are previous and away, however a pandemic makes it bolder. — Satarupa Ghosh Roy

I walked into the cramped East Village candle retailer. The person behind the counter requested what I wanted. “I heard that you simply … assist folks,” I stated. He rubbed his palms collectively like he was about to make his favourite meal. “I must recover from somebody,” I stated. He nodded and retrieved a black candle from a shelf: “I would like your initials and his.” I watched as he carved my heartbreak into the wax. “Burn this for seven days. You’ll really feel higher.” On day seven, I met somebody new. It was a short, therapeutic romance. I by no means appeared again. — Felice Neals

“Who’s that girl?” my father asks me, pointing to a framed picture on the wall. “She’s so stunning it makes me cry.” The lady within the picture is my mom, Rosemary. They have been married for 56 years earlier than she handed away. They slept in the identical mattress till the tip, holding palms each night time as they drifted off to sleep. My father has Alzheimer’s. Some days he doesn’t know who she is; others he speaks as if she’s within the room, calling out over his shoulder, “Rose — ” as if reminiscence is music solely he can hear. — Amy Massingale

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