He was honest, uselessly honest, like an ugly old man who admitted to never being unfaithful. Acting honorable only mattered when you’ve had the opportunity to sin. His confession of goodness proved only that he’d had a boring life, that he had had few opportunities thrown his way.
Queen of canned conversation, you can fall in love with this servant turned therapist—-she has had this talk before, she’s perfected her adoring gaze, and in the morning she will jog off all the drinks you bought her—-weight gain is the only evidence you existed to her, and who wants that?
"Keep things simple. Don’t bother with jealousy. People who want you will come to you. Make sure they say it explicitly. Not ‘I miss hanging out’ or ‘we should get together.’ It should be ‘I miss you. I want to see you.’ Ignore everything else."
I don’t know who you’re trying to impress with these moves, there’s no camera, I’m no actress, who are you doing the acrobatics for? Did you see this in a movie? Don’t spit on my vagina.
I’m addicted to the poverty of my youth—A green balance, is, to me
a life vest with a hole in it
a false sense of security.
Money has no meaning, just my
the joy of biting into a dollar menu sandwich—
I died for you in a past life. It’s why I love and hate obeying you—-I have some inherent need to be your angel and spy, to read your mind, at my own demise.
We’re defined by all the lives we don’t want—-raised to believe careerism is harsh and pointless, that having a family means squashing your artistic potential, but also that art and god are dead. So we watch netflix, avoid the news and avoid our debts. We dislike commitment and fear dying alone. We’re afraid to try our best at anything. That’s what it means to be a millennial, that’s our constant worry.
We’re not spoiled, we’re paralyzed with fear and depression, but we’re hoping everyone else will be fooled into thinking we’re blasé.
Loving you was like drinking water with a fork.
Don’t wish me a happy birthday, or say you’re glad I’m safe when the next natural disaster hits. Don’t crawl all over my social media pages.
Above all, never tell me you’re proud of me.
He asked why I had been single for so long, like it was a gap in my resume that I needed to explain. I guess I had been in mourning—-not for the failed relationship, but for the piece of me I would never get back.