Contributor: Isabella Vasquez

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Her hair is hazel wisps of wind
splayed across her cheek.
Her last attempt to wear shoes forgotten
sitting on the curb with bare feet
bare souls, no words needed.
Between the lines we drew
there were collected moments of wonder.
Our smiles cracked liked thunder
The sky rumbled and poured,
we spun in harmony.
Our laughter mixed into the rain's melody
a secret language between us.
I stared into her brown, golden eyes
like a face-up lucky penny.
That day only returns to us
In our dreams.


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Isabella Vasquez lives with her three dogs in Los Angeles, who she writes short stories for. She likes to surf and explore the world on her free time.

Contributor: Isabella Vasquez

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I look down at my sky blue sneakers
on the ancient steps of Machu Picchu.
The stones pile high covering the sun
Like a dark cloud.

The river runs along the edge of the cliff
as If it were a part of a dream.
There's an energy that vibrates from the rocks to me,
Resting in my bones, whispering secrets from the past.
A past that chose a lone traveler,
The intricate ruins that once were homes
Make my heart beat like a ritual drum.

The mountain's shadow rests on my shoulders,
mist rolls in.
A city that once was a secret
becomes hidden again.


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Isabella Vasquez lives with her three dogs in Los Angeles, who she writes short stories for. She likes to surf and explore the world on her free time.