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good news! i’ve decided that me and ariela are gonna go around la curbstomping the prank vloggers who contaminate our fair city by being sexually violent and aggressively racist for views; anthony will film/getaway drive
Gushers sandwich with Fruit by the Foot as bread.
where did you go? the balcony. the staircase. the corner of the park with the sunflowers. all empty. remember the hill, how we rolled down together into the four leaf clovers like it meant something? it always seemed to mean something. if I could tell you one thing it’d be to look at the stars more. you never seem to look at the stars. do you know what they’re telling us, all those lights above the world we play in? to be present. to be here. to be more like music, less like math. and your hands, they still sound like the ocean, sure, but so what? so plenty. so I love you. so I want you and I can’t have you and they are playing love songs in someone else’s heart now. those stars don’t say a word above us and they still know us. know us like they birthed us and raised us and heard us. know us like they love us. they keep watch, like lovers on a sleepless night. the curve of your jaw, the rosebush tangle of your hair, left over on the pillow. god, I wish I could crawl through your brain, see what you see when you look out from your skull. the human heart, an animal: the incandescent glow of a hospital room, how the monitor picks up every time you laugh. I wish love was easy. I wish it was blueberry pancakes and honey, but the world doesn’t owe us any miracles, but the libraries all close after six. the sunset. the hill. the stars. sit with me, darling. I promise to make it worth your while.
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*Fox News voice* Was slavery really about race???
Tell me what you mean when you say you love someone. Tell me what your mouth does to form the holy vow, how your tongue presses up against your teeth to cry out. Are you still howling at the moon? Tell me where you go when the place you go isn’t there anymore. Tell me about home, what it means to build a nest in someone’s heart. How you curl up to sleep and the feel of their hair warms your better than any blanket could. Tell me about the sex, about poetry, about death. Do you still lock the door at night like any thing that might hurt you could be stopped by a simple block of wood? Tell me about her, the way you held her in your arms. How the simple act of flesh on flesh was never enough to make you forget. Tell me about the wait, the days you lost to longing. That Time is your only god. That just because you remember doesn’t change a thing. Tell me about the car, about the engine, about the streetlights. Tell me about your bones. Tell me about my fingers, how they looked clenched around a bottle of wine. Look me in the eyes and tell me what it did to your heart to watch me rip myself in half in front of you. Unlock the door. Turn down the radio. Now tell me: what do you mean when you say you’re in love?
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Emma Sulkowicz is on the cover of this month’s New York Magazine and that is the coolest thing wow