If anything, he fell for me. That’s what I tell myself as I walk around campus in my finest sweatpants-and-Sperry’s combination. I tell myself he just is not man enough to handle how open I am in regards to my sexuality.
Not only does constantly swearing make you sound uneducated, it makes you sound like a pissed-off frat boy whose parents cut off his beer fund. Once you visually posses class, you need to sound like class too.
Go ahead and claim that it’s on the inside that counts. Tell me that it wasn’t apparent (I have photos that say otherwise).
You tasted like cigarettes, and your accent was strange in retrospect.
Today I was having a particularly self-absorbed day. I was diligently stewing in distaste for the inordinate amount time I’m required to spend with myself. In addition to my self loathing over substantial writer’s block, I’m a bridesmaid in my friends wedding in 3 weeks and I’m convinced my arms look like they belong on a chubby baby.
I theorize on why I return each day…
When the morning comes, you have crust in your eyes and your throat is bothering you because you forgot to chug water the night before. You have to pee, as you always do, and you feel exposed without your bra and panties.
For the first time in a while, I didn’t feel so alone.
I was in class when I heard you died.
You are the last stop between self-doubt and self-discovery.