HeyJaredJef Wallican
Introspective essays about longing, identity, and the small moments that shape us. For those who notice things. For those who feel deeply.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 7
- Latest publication
- Aug 31, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 14, 2026
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i love to see you, not call you (opens the original)
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We sat on your olive-green suede couch. You held me in your arms while I was making pools of tears on your sweater, and my chest was imploding every time I thought of her. It all felt so fragile. My life, the love and the future I thought was always mine - slipped out of my hands. A mind after a breakup tends to go into a full nihilistic swing, where the pain asks, “What am I without her?” You answered that I was enough as I was.I’m still convincing myself of that one. Back then, you were the on
all i ever wanted was everything (opens the original)
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There’s a modest mountain in Kefalonia called Ainos, where the gravel road abruptly stops at a green gate, the entrance to the forest. I get out of the car to continue on foot. A saturated blue and indigo sky surrounds my view at the peak; a warm breeze runs through my hair and hugs my body. A thousand meters below me, white houses are nested in a town; illuminated by street lanterns, everything’s gloaming; the blue hour is here. Further to the horizon, I can see the Ionian Sea, the crystalline
a beer after pilates (opens the original)
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I’m in a luminous, mirrored room, my grippy-socked feet pressing on a clean white oak floor and a neon sign saying “Life is better on a reformer”. The next fifty minutes will prove that’s a white lie.Trembling, I’m instructed to make a slow, downward circle shape with my stretched legs, my lower back muscles are screaming to be closer to the reformer pad, yet the teacher invites me to look at my belly button while I stretch my legs in front of me. I’m craning my neck forward, and I can feel my a
a bruise for a lesson (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedhonest words leave your lipsText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedi’m flushed and surely splitText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedfrom stones striking my ski
catching frogs just to let them go (opens the original)
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We walked in a jagged line to a small local pond for a little school quest. My eyes felt dry as cork from the sun’s white glare. Spring in Belgium is rarely hot, but that afternoon burned with dry malice. Lacking sunglasses, I pulled my school cap over my brow. We were told the pond contained frogs, and the objective was to explore, so we marched on like a parade of young Livingstones.I already saw frogs, mind you. This self-proclaimed knowledgeable seven-year-old had already learned to swim by
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