1. Here’s what our parents never taught us:

    You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon,
    chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
    you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
    who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.

    You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will
    realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.

    A woman will kiss you and you’ll think her lips are two petals
    rubbing against your mouth.

    You will not tell anyone that you liked it.
    It’s okay.
    It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.

    You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on.

    All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
    All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
    curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
    and miles on end.

    You will lie to everyone you love.
    They will love you anyways.

    One day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.

    Molt.
    Don’t be afraid.

    Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out
    against the windowpane.

    You are a hurricane-prone area.
    The glass will break through often.

    But it’s okay. I promise.

    Remember,
    a stranger once told you that the breeze
    here is something worth writing poems about.

    — Shinji Moon

    (Source: commovente)

     
  2. Laundry day was absurdly sexy. Laundry day was an underwear-less, bra-less, fishnet tights, back-less dress kind of day. This was one of the many lazy contradictions of her life. Like how she grew her hair long to only ever wear it piled on top of her head or how she dreamed of a life on stage in front of hundreds of strangers, but couldn’t bear crowded parties full of people she didn’t know. The performance of life was anxiety producing while a certain fourth wall building expertise was the happiest she could be. She cultivated a one-woman show to be able to walk down the street everyday. She taught herself the skills she thought of asking other people, assuming self-reliance must be simpler, even if it was stunting. The city afforded her an anonymity she embraced. The city assaulted her with the possibility of running into an acquaintance on every corner, which she shirked. Laundry day happened too infrequently, by the time it came around this was all that was left in her wardrobe, a slinky dress, a handful of bobby pins, a quiet ambition and a secret lust for a life she didn’t dare live. 

     
  3. Game, Set, Match

    I think I terrified the guy on the train today who complimented the thick book I appeared to be towards the beginning of when I said, “Oh yeah, it’s great. I just finished it. I’m starting over.” I believe his exact words were “Oh, Jesus” and then he turned away scarred. Apparently women who read thousand page books over and over again are not what he’s looking for which is fine because he was scribbling in a notebook and I tend to find subway scribblers terrifying. By the end of our ride he had taken out The New Yorker, so I’m sure we could exhaust each other if given the chance. 

     
  4. Sugar, Prudie, & Polly

    Can we talk about the golden age of the advice column we’re currently in? But, also, how we, the advice-letter writing public, are all fucked. Nothing is beautiful and everything hurts. Except for the advice. The advice is so very beautiful. 

     
  5. Power.

    I used to.

    I used to.

    I used to.

    Not anymore. 

     
  6. She hopes for nothing except fine weather and a resolution. She wants to end properly, like a good sentence.
    — Zadie Smith
     
  7. Date Night.

    Listening to attractive men talk passionately about things I’m not too sure of in dimly lit rooms with our knees almost touching. The watching and the listening. I need talkers. I need the slightly self-involved. I need those who don’t think less of me for being a little quiet. I need those who aren’t offended by my nodding. I need sharers, not preachers. I want to listen to you talk all night. I want to raise my eyebrows and smile at you all night. 

     
  8. Don’t get all shiny and hard and special. Let yourself be odd and awkward, and hurt. You’ll be stronger and happier if you let yourself feel genuinely upset by this right now. Crumple on down into the carpet, and sob for a while. You need to remember this, and acknowledge that it upsets you, that you don’t want to do this to yourself again. If you deny that this hurts, though, you will do it again and again and again.
     
  9. The story I told was not quite accurate, but I had to tell it in a way that placed her focus on my specific questions. I wanted answers and I knew the truth would derail the conversation, or worse, shut it down entirely.