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and when time has bit me well and I am old,

I will open my legs and watch as the window for me having a child gets slim, and I will open them wide because I am old and I can now be vulgar.

And in my home somewhere alone, regret is an old friend I drink with late at night, as I have learned to turn anything into a simple pleasure.

And I will wear red lipstick, and heels, and the occasional pair of gloves, and when I see a young one with a style as wild as the wind I will say “you keep going, I mean it. Don’t let them touch your joy. Anyone. As long as you have it, grasp it like a rope and revel in it like a prayer”.

Faithful to the eclectic, and time has bit/will bite me, and I will spread my chest open and watch my youth leave me, because I am old and allowed to make my mourning a public spectacle.

And if I see an old friend, I will deny deny deny as I feel the crows of nostalgia try and make me rememeber, as my body decays, before I was bit/bitten/eaten, before I clawed and grasped at the tail of time and yanked hard until it turned around and bit.

And when I am old, I will file the sharpness of my mind down with a gin and tonic, and when prompted I will cough up wisdom, I will cough up something I could’ve come up with when I was 14.

And when someone asks me where I learned it from I will say what my seniors told me, that it was learned with time. I will leave out the part they always leave out, how you will learn it young and hold on to it until it is valid to use, until you are old and allowed to be free, old and allowed to be yourself.

-untitled, me florie altieri

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Sarah Fathima Mohammed, from "nocturnes in the rain"

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“If the credentials of tragedy could tug at your heart more, and set me apart, like a college application or a last letter to a lover. All the geniuses have made it already. Every good quote has been written, every good rhythm sang too. I can offer you the scraps of the original and hope you see intellect in it.”

-me, florie altieri

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there’s love in long messages. in late night phone calls. love when laughs echo around us. when we dance. there’s love woven into your “i saw this and thought of you” or “i can give you the space you need” or “i am here”. there’s love in your eyes when you understand. and in your smile when you don’t but still try to. it’s in the food we share. flowing through the tips of our fingers when we touch. and intertwining when our thoughts flow together. there’s love captured in our photographs and even better, in our memories. days pass and there is love. always love, still.

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“I want to stain everything I touch.

Why is permanent strains on my hands a bad thing? Are they not akin to wrinkles on someone’s skin? some form of proof of living?”

-me, florie altieri

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a beast by maita / moon song by phoebe bridgers / i got heaven by mannequin pussy / knives out by radiohead / cop car by mitski

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Franz Kafka

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