Nothing in the world smells as good as the person you love.
I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
so long and thanks for all the fish!
Smokey eyes and tiny anchors.
One of the little girls at work told me that I “look like Joan from Madmen”.
I don’t. Not in the slightest, but that’s the kinda complement that I’m going to keep in my pocket for sad days.