Yes, they had an ex. Yes, they had sex. It was probably good sex. They said they loved each other, and had an awesome time, and were very happy for some time. Stew over that as much as you want, it’s not going away.
It will be like loving a brick wall. You are head over heels enamored with everything they are, and all they can see is this ugly collection of flaws and how undeserving they are of your love.
Recognize that 99.9% of the people who read what you write, don’t really know you. So whatever they have to say about who you are and who you are not, is baseless.
There are people whose love pours out in complicated, profound words. They could fill books on the way their partner looks when they just wake up, or how much they love spending time with their best friend.
You can’t make money without selling something real. You can’t make something real without first imagination manifesting itself in your head. You can’t have imagination without surrendering yourself to an idea that you want to create something of value to other human beings.
From Julio Cortázar to Virginia Woolf to Luna Miguel and Andy Warhol, these are authors and books I love.
I broke up with people I loved. I fell in love again. I moved. I was unemployed. I was homeless. I cut my hair short.
Last night, a YouTube video of a young man named Samuel H. went Facebook and Twitter viral. In it, Samuel makes a string of negative, racial remarks against Asians.
I know 90s email chain letters and sex ed taught us otherwise, but chlamydia doesn’t always look like a molded piece of broccoli vomiting up blood clots.
For sale: like-new engagement ring, barely worn, came right off her finger. Finger also for sale for the right offer.
“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.
We were always at each other’s throats, able to magically tear each other apart and push each other’s buttons epically.
Because I’m afraid you’ll ask me for the sweater back which I have strategically stolen. But you can’t be mad at me for this; it fits perfectly and keeps me extremely warm on the semi-frequent nights where my heater doesn’t work.
When someone wants to tear apart my writing — because I had the gall to suggest that society is racist or sexist — they often bring up my presumed gender to do so. I’m interpellated as “that girl,” “a chick on the internet.”
He sent it as a subtle reminder — or a preparedness warning, really. She brings it out, using one hand to cup the top of the phone so the bartender doesn’t see it, I guess. I’m pretty sure this exact situation has happened in front of him like 10,000 times already.
New rule: the second I walk into a dude’s room and he has a mattress on the floor (box springs are acceptable) I’m turning around and walking straight back out.
