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People look so different once you don't care about them anymore. You begin to notice how ordinary they are, how it was your love that made them unique.
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the demon that cursed you with infertility and the fey that you promised your firstborn are having a legal battle.
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And I don’t know if it’s the romance novels I’ve been reading on my phone. Or the young couples down every street in this city. Or my usual playlist of forlorn love songs. But here I am in this hotel room in another city, another country, another continent, still missing you. Stuffy humid summer air. Maybe it’s messing with my head. I thought I was doing so well these past few months. Forcing myself to recover every time I wake up from a dream with you. Choking down every thought of you that bubbles inside me. Pushing my desire and languish and yearn within. This chronic illness will be the death of me. Mosquito bites down my leg. Maybe my immune system is weakened in this foreign land across the ocean from you. Antidote lost and misplaced. Motorcycles hum and buzz and ride too close to me, heat everywhere. A different bed night after night and I’ve grown homesick for my room, my pillow, you. I daydream and real dream about us. Our reunion. We meet at a party, a family friend’s function, maybe even your family. Our families exchange greetings and introductions and handshakes. I reach you in line and stick out my hand and smile at you, feigning confidence and indifference in the way I’m all too well versed at, as I say long time no see. You smile sheepishly and shyly at me and we shake hands and something passes between us which threatens to shake the mask of coolness off my frame. For the rest of the night we talk and laugh and pretend there is nothing between us but we both know. Not so casual touches and glances that linger for too long and silences that feel electrified. And that’s the start of everything but the end of my fantasy. Even over seas and borders and equators and skies, you haunt me and I can’t rid of your shadow. How do I move planets?
Michelle Pfeiffer by Ethel Cain
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Turning into an adult is so crazy. I had a nightmare last night about accidentally paying 300 Euros for a slice of ham. I woke up sweating. No one prepares you for that.
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fireflies lighting up a rural Pennsylvania field at dusk
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posting is body horror and lurking is cosmic horror, it is quite simple
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