Tiny Love Stories: ‘Who Has Time to Feel All Day?’
The New York Times
Modern Love in miniature, featuring reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words.
Having nearly lost my marriage, I appreciate its comforts now: the quotidian rituals, the seamless care of our children, our shared warmth under the covers. But we both have unexplored pain. After all, with children, jobs, bills, laundry and yard work, who has time to feel all day? I sometimes worry that he will hide an addiction from me again, and he wonders whether someone could pull me away once more. Our marriage is somehow more solid and also less. We both know the fragility of such things. — Danielle Simone Brand
My father died in a home gas explosion in México after I moved to Miami. I fell into a deep, dark hole. One day after drinking, I faced what I’d been thinking: What if nobody can love me as my father did? Papá never wanted to change me, never questioned my sexuality or personality. At home alone, I began to suffer so much that I contemplated suicide. “I want to be with someone who loves me unconditionally,” I said aloud. Right then, my dog walked over and stared at me. Canijo perro, that damn dog, I owe him my life. — Sergio Mendoza
I place a finger on the globe to show my daughter where I grew up. My finger covers most of Missouri, including my hometown, Maryville, which of course isn’t marked. Maryville is in the center of the country, slightly to the left, like the heart in my body. People ask “Where are you from?” to learn where others began their story. Maryville is modest but has taught me to be authentic. (There are few secrets or pretenses in a small town.) My daughter’s hometown is Los Angeles, but Maryville exists within her, because it exists within me. — Shanda Connolly
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