“I never wish to be easily defined. I’d rather float over other people’s minds as something strictly fluid and non-perceivable; more like a transparent, paradoxically iridescent creature rather than an actual person.” —Franz Kafka
no one ever congratulates you for doing the really difficult things like driving on the freeway or getting out of bed or staying alive
2. every friendship you make is a countdown to the moment when they finally can’t deal with the missed calls and canceled hangouts every friendship is on a timer every friendship expires sooner, not later
3. you hear phrases like “bootstraps” over and over until you wish you had some to hang yourself with
4. you have to learn to simultaneously relax your muscles and move them with determination you have to be in control and you have to let go at the same time it’s enough to drive you into a blubbering mess
5. music is a conduit crying is a conduit your dad calling is a conduit everything becomes a conduit for either having or not having another panic attack
6. you learn to stop making plans because you’ll either disappoint yourself or someone you care about or both
7. you accept all of it
8. you hope someday everyone else can accept it too
“Ugly is attractive, ugly is exciting. Maybe because it is newer. The investigation of ugliness is to me, more interesting, than the bourgeois idea of beauty. And why? Because ugly is human. It touches the bad and the dirty side of people.”—Miuccia Prada, T Magazine “Culture” 2013 (via defaillir)
the first time I saw her, everything in my head went quiet. all the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images, just disappeared.
when you have obsessive compulsive disorder you don’t really get quiet moments. even in bed, I am thinking: did I lock my door? yes did I wash my hands? yes did I lock my door? yes did I wash my hands? yes
but when I saw her, the only thing that I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips, or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek.
I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. she said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. on our first date, I spent more time organising my meal by colour than I did eating, or fucking talking to her.
but she loved it. she loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times, or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday. she loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
when we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked; when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.
at night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. she’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.
some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye, but she’d just leave because I was making her late for work. when I stopped at a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking. when she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line. she told me I was taking up too much of her time. last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.
she told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her. that this whole thing was a mistake, but how can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?
love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars.
and she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel. how she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe. how she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out—
now, I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once— he doesn’t care if it’s perfect. I want her back so bad.
I’m not reckless anymore. I forget. I forget, too.
Clutching another’s warm hand, not oddly sized as mine, on the way to a place to get my frail frame sorted out, I thought ten years more to this life is something I can want. I want to be be able to say at 43 that ten years ago I was Editor in Chief of Playboy.
My life has been cold caution thrown to the wind. I have been living. However the next ten years bequeath, I want to be able to look back to this year.
So I will keep this motor running. It’s only a matter of time though before I get to where you are.