Some good old-fashioned blogging
La rosa amarilla
She’s nineteen when he gives her the first yellow rose. He’s 21, uncertain, hesitant.
Tikoy
“I’m kurutuy-kutuying,” he says, getting up from his desk after nearly three hours of work.
It’s 9:30 am and she’s barely awake. Perimenopausal insomnia is its own kind of hell, even for someone who’s always been a night owl. Sleep is elusive and five hours have been her average for weeks.

