Whether you are reading this from the living room, desk, or the beach, I hope you are in a space where you feel safe and relaxed. 2020 has certainly thrown us some curveballs thus far, and our new issue is rooted in our world's changing approach to how we form new connections…

1. Bones

On the eighth anniversary of our dog’s death, we decided to go back to the old house and dig him up, just to see. And we laughed at the chicken bones we found buried amongst the dirt and childhood fantasies.

I still think about the days I spent wishing I were a peach. It was halfway through the merciless winter and I had become gluttonous on homemade berry compote, always craving the taste of sweet fruit. Everything was grey and sad, and to adjust I developed yin-yang habits…

A starving fox limping through the trees,
the rushing water mingles with the sound of buzzing bees,
up ahead the smell of nourishment carried with the breeze begging please,
calling forward the fox with the greatest of ease.

“How could he do that to his family? I feel terrible for them, especially for the boy. He’s so young. His life has been ruined. Years and years of therapy won’t do much. He was the one who made the call! He was so brave…

This whole snowy silence signifies something.
This whole whisper of smothered sounds
definitely signifies something…

We, the youth
are tried, trailed and tired.
We wish to scream out
all our lingering frustrations and stress.

Humans. We walk around passing millions of people, our eyes taking in a thousand faces each day but our brains only comprehending a handful. So many faces that are different but belong to the same species. As many stories as there are beauties…

Every day at school
Was a good day
At the age of three
To eight anyway.

The Hotel Savoy is a few blocks from Piotrkowska, down a street called Generała Romualda Traugutta. Just past the Grand Hotel the street becomes a walkway, fanned with limestone setts the color of rainclouds…

I used to know it was time to wake up
When my cat Penny
Would race into the bedroom
Or rouse from her sleep at the end of the bed…

Sixty-six-year-old Shammi and Gullu, her sixty-nine-year-old husband, lived in a village named Kot Essa. Gullu had no relatives in nearby and Shammi herself had come from a remote village…

Slowly slipping away, dipping under the surface, it's cold and dark and knocks the breath out of your lungs but don't you dare gasp for air, don't you dare scream for help, don't you dare admit your troubles, mouth shut, eyeing the bubbles…

She’s going with who?
But isn’t he just out of prison?
And yes, I’m putting on weight.
And I really do hate thunderstorms…

The old, wooden floor creaks as I set foot in the bedroom that once belonged to my parents. For many years I entered this room with a feeling of delight, knowing that as soon as I opened the door my mom would ask me if I’d had a nightmare and needed a hug…