July 2016

Forgetting that romantic language isn’t inherently good, realistic, or attainable.

Daily Prompt: Depth

Your grandmother had it right all along.
Some days do feel like bottle rockets popping off at the wiggle of your hips.
Every song is a good song and you are the most effervescent and loud and absolutely hilarious.
That anyone you love and loves you back will love you when you’re lost and tell you words you’ve already said to yourself to squeeze out the rain and tension from that spot in the middle of your forehead.
That the numbness blanketing everything will make your body feel like fresh-baked clay .
There is no lag time. No real silence.
Snapping fingers, flipping pancakes.
Laughing-to-impending-doom.

Your grandmother was right all along.

There is a particular stanza or phrase that gets stuck in your head so long, you’re unsure if you put it there or it bloomed from the current state of the world.

All you can do is talk, talk until it’s over.
Your ability to love is not hindered. Or maybe the hinder is in the intensity, but some days you don’t feel anything so it’s possible nothing has changed.
Crying is a legit emotion. Just crying.
Sex is acrobatics and wrestling, you’re totally fine with the jiggling of your stomach and the darkness of the inside of your thighs. You just want to do it forever. You just want this freedom forever.
Peeling skin, tweezing ingrown hairs, sucking the dreams off your lover’s tongue at the top of the morning
admiring how different and plush and real everything feels until you are completely raw is only highlighted by someone’s bones crashing into yours.
But it isn’t a fruitless feeling, all the same.

 

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