Sex (a lot of sex), endlessly late nights, Jameson, and a job as a waitress. Is this how I pictured my first year out of college? Is this what I worked so hard for, hid in the library on weekends for, cried over A-'s for? Is this the shape my twenties will take? Perhaps. Perhaps I never really pictured this decade. Perhaps my many years of formal ( Read more... )

I don't think I belong in Denver, the same way I didn't belong in a Catholic high school. There's really no other way to explain it, except that I knew it then and I can feel it now. My solution at sixteen was to up and move to South America, but is that sort of thing possible in my twenties? Aren't I supposed to be growing up now? Or is ( Read more... )

I couldn't anymore. After years in our perfect relationship I hit a wall, or built one, and he went to work one day and I packed up my entire side of the closet in the little basement apartment that we shared, kissed the dog on the head. I had everything in my car with the engine running when he came home. There was nothing to say, really, except ( Read more... )

It's August ( Read more... )

These waters are familiar. I've slipped and risen with these waves, scanned the stars for direction and clung to your skin for my bearings ( Read more... )

When I see you now
baby I'm full of regret

not because you're gone
but 'cause I'm not

the one who left.

Isn't being in love quite a bit like being saved? It rescues from loneliness, from first dates and the throngs of people with whom you spend your time but don't fully connect. It absolves you of your sins. His love washes over you like water from the baptismal font. He knows you peed the bed in college once when you were stone cold sober, that ( Read more... )

I'm watching YouTube videos of my favorite writer eating french fries on a road trip. I can't decide whether this breaking of the fourth wall (or whatever wall stands between reader and author) is a blessing (because the world of writing suddenly feels so possible) or depressing (because the woman i've worshiped for years has a hick accent and a ( Read more... )

Last night I told him I was leaving, poised my knife within centimeters of his heart and held it there while he cried. But I'm a coward. I set my weapon down and pressed my face against his heaving chest. I listened to the movement of his organs, felt his breath slow down, and eventually he was snoring lightly and I myself cried. My bed was an ( Read more... )

Suddenly, next to him, I feel naked. The awareness creates so much distance ( Read more... )