Harris Sockel

I never “came out” of “the closet.” And by that, I mean there was no single point in time when I decided to Be Myself. Instead, I just sort of… expanded.

When your mom loses her job, you realize all those years of turning you into you — waking up at 3 a.m. to clean your vomit, fielding existential crises, driving you home from high school ragers — aren’t things she can line-item on a resume. 

We can only be bored after we’ve been everything else. We can only be bored after we’ve wanted to fuck one another and kill one another, after we’ve been monumentally silent and pitifully loud.

These are the friends who greet you with an it’s-been-too-damn-long hug. The friends who knew you before you had sex, before you had a title and a desk and a commute.

We kissed in the kitchen, next to a lazy Susan and a few glass pears.

If it’s a device, delete it.

This is not Your Life. It’s just life. Not really yours. Stop thinking you can control things and make everything just so and accept that this will end, the leaves will get brown and fall, and you’ll step on them and get the flecks on your feet.

Summer is when we realize all of a sudden that we have always had too much skin.

Twitter manifests that, makes it feel real, like a cross-section of all the wild blood flows that happen in our brains when bad things go down.