Trena Tackitt

The two people that I love the most have one magical thing in common: excited, infectious giggling. There is an otherworldly joy in...

I zoomed into the photo, then bit back a paradoxical laugh before closing my photo app. Of course. Deep purple, with a yellowing center. I hadn't been looking for this, but thank God I rarely delete anything. I picked up the pen that was lying beside my wine glass and made a quick note in my sketchpad. At least four then, if my count was right. I scrolled more, watching the images flicker past me on the screen, then paused and jotted down another line before adding a date und

The keys clicked erratically beneath my fingers as they flew across the keyboard. It was a satisfying sound that blended seamlessly into...

Time is an odd thing. When I look in the mirror now, it feels like I'm looking at a completely different person. It's not just the faint...

Wishing a Happy Mother's Day to all the brave, beautiful mothers out there 💙 Looking to support mothers in times of crisis? Consider...

I watched the flames flicker orange than green as they devoured the ink on the notecard. It wasn't the oldest one the box, but had still been there for well over a year. It was strange, how the good news coincided with the rainbow fire that lit up the skies. Was it somehow for me? Probably not, but I liked to think so. They say coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous and I always find a strange comfort looking at the night skies, like some celestial hand is being plac

I stuck my tongue out and tilted my head towards the sky as I made my way past my old apartment building near the library. I'd missed wet spring snows like this almost as much as I missed being a student. My angel's hands clasped tightly around my neck, cutting off my airflow slightly whenever her her weight shifted and she giggled, imitating my behavior. I held on tightly to her calves so she wouldn't tumble onto the cement. Her snowboots were pink with fluffy sherpa lining,

I listened as his fingers danced over the strings, teasing out 'Neon' on the fresh nylon, surprised by the melody. I knew very little about guitars, but enough to know it probably wasn't an easy song to play. Maybe it was partially a cultural thing, but he seemed to be able to play anything he got his hands on reasonably well.

The biggest barrier to ending sexual exploitation and abuse (aside from evil or apathetic individuals who deliberately participate or who allow it to continue) is spreading awareness. Sometimes it's not that people don't care, it's that they don't know or realize how prevalent the issue is, until it happens to them or someone they care about. It should not be normal.

EDIT: I'm finding more and more "Unfinished" things in my writing stash, and have decided to keep them in a thread with no ending. Like a fraying sweater, I'll tie knots where appropriate, before places where things unravel to the point that they start to completely lose their form or structure, but I'd rather keep my loose threads all in one place