These were my friends drinking cider, and I was one of them. But in the winter we all kept ourselves healthy and warmed. Writing our names on our bedroom windows. Condensation conversations. I left my other-eighth behind, like every half full mug of green tea on his bookcase. I left my parents in the dark, flicking the light on occasionally to remind them I was still alive and able. I curled into my malleable form in the early morning. Feeling otherworldly and prominent, always. But these were my friends, gearing up for the sun. We were all waiting. And I was changing, please.
Date that should not have been a date, date. You have terrific eyes but you have said too many kind things about me and I can only foresee you running out of these pleasantries much sooner than you have probably planned.
Winter appeals beyond all else because of layers. This coat swathes a multitude of sins. Oh shit, I’m going to be the fat chick in summer again aren’t I.
Should have just shown him my hips. THINK OF SOMETHING NICE TO SAY NOW, FUCKER.
I don’t have a sweet tooth anymore. It died.
She is chain-smoking, I am trying to maintain eye contact. She is chain-smoking like me. We are looking at each other.
My values and I, hello.
I used to drink gin. But gin makes me sad. It took me too long to figure this out. Mornings after made me want to twist myself over and step on my own face.