Being polite these days is so rare that it is often confused as flirting.
The more you talk, the more I wish I was deaf.
It’s not that I’m afraid to say how I feel, it’s that I’m afraid of how you’ll react
something about women crying in bathrooms, always in a hurry, always the violent swiping under the eyes, pressing at the puffy red blotches, rushing, getting it out, looking in the mirror and then, like a warrior, going back outside to wherever like nothing ever happened and doing it all again. tell me we’re not brave even when we’re hiding.
