V.S. Wells

This must be something else if it’s not heartbreak. Heart-scraped knees. Heartbruise.

On a first date, I realised midway through that I was wearing a strappy dress, and hadn’t shaved my armpits. Cue awkwardly refusing to raise my arms for the rest of the night.

“Actually, what I really want to know is — how do two girls actually have sex?” he asked, and for a split second I imagine bludgeoning him over the head with the pool cue in my hand.