I wonder if the death of 'us' will kill me. But I breathe in, and I put myself together as best as I can to show the world that your words don’t faze me.
Writing words that are never beautiful enough, never truthful enough, never loving enough... But these words hold a desperate hope that you will read them.
This joke was not the product of haplessly old-fashioned, harmlessly sexist men. It was purposeful, deeply misogynistic violence, passed off as joking.
I returned to that night as I am now, as my 11-years-since aged self. We were at a party. Our 10-year high school reunion. I had only one purpose being there this time: You.
Tall doesn’t equate to trust. Charming doesn’t equate to honest. A good job doesn’t equate to a good life. All of these things sound great in theory, but I’ve learned that the more I know, the less I realize I actually know.