All the air races out of the room, and I race out with it.
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I want to cry and cry and cry and cry until all the dirt in the whole forest floor has turned to mud
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And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it’s night, day breaks.
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He touches my cheek in that tender way that he does that makes me believe in God and Buddha and Mohammed and Ganesh and Mary et al.
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we need to start a new philosophical movement: messessentialism instead of existentialism: for those who revel in the essential mess that is life.
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He makes a noise that’s part groan, part roar, like ahhharrrrgh
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he’s so alive, he makes me feel like I could take a bite out of the whole earth.
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How to get used to being without a boy who turns you into brightness?
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These feminists are all about celebrating the body, its langage.” She whips the scarf in the air. “Like I said, they’re all after jouissance. As a means, of course, of subverting the dominant patriarchal paradigm and the white male literary canon
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You can tell your story any way you damn well please. It’s your solo.