“Are you a Mr. or a Ms.?”
“Dr.”
“But are you a man or a woman?”
“I’m a scientist.”
icarusninja23
“No, what’s in your pants?”
“Physics.”
I thought love would be sweaty palms. Smothered pillows. Tearstained napkins and electric touch. I thought you could only find love at the end of a VHS tape, when the heroine falls into the hero’s arms again and again, sleepless in Seattle, what a pretty woman…
I thought love was crying about boys with my head in your lap as your braided my hair. We counted the minutes between text messages and blocked phone number after phone number, love—was looking good in party pictures.
But what you and I have—it’s something different. You’re a best friend, no, a sister, no, you’re me; we’ve become so twisted in each other’s words that we can’t untangle our tongues. I find myself in the fuzz clinging to your sweaters. You taste my morning on the rim of a coffee cup. I kissed a girl once. You’ve never dated a man. Together we make two-thirds of a perfect person and settle into the flaws.
This isn’t love, I say to the mirror. It’s friendship. Sisterhood. Sameness. Oneness. Love looks like the basketball player who was expelled from the team but still won’t text me back. Love is the girlfriend who chokes you with kisses as you cringe and refuse to meet my eye. Love is dates going dutch. Love is wearing his t-shirt on the subway. Love is meeting her parents. Love is buying a ring.
Love is not the way the air changes colors when you and I look at each other—really look at each other—and can’t look away. You box the food. I call the taxi. How do I look? Amazing. Will you zip me up? She’s such a lucky girl. Are you ready to go? The cab’s waiting. Tonight we’re heading out, as always, to pay our lunch money to the club bouncer and manipulate blue-eyed men into buying blue-eyed martinis. We’ll measure our worth by our empty glasses. We’ll wipe vodka stickiness onto each other’s bare knees and laugh, and let our fingers linger, and forget to laugh, and you’ll touch my cheek, and I’ll taste your bottom lip, or—
Or I’ll go home with a man. Which man? That one. You wink. Have fun, tiger. You’re such a mess. He’s a lucky guy. I guess so, I say, I guess so, with his hand strangling my thigh.
At his apartment, I hug my knees as he slips like a shadow into the kitchen. You text me: are you okay? He returns with a glass of water: how are you feeling?
I unfold my legs and turn off my phone. I’m okay, I say. I love you.
girls and their best friends. (i’m okay; i’m not in love)
how we said i love you
I cheated on you and it wasn’t supposed to hurt.
I slept with him because I thought you’d always stick around, and I chased her to make you fight for me.
I broke up with you in the middle of nowhere, so we still had to share a hotel room that night.
I introduced you to my new girlfriend because I wanted to see jealousy change your eye color.
I ran away because you begged me to stay. I returned when I knew you didn’t want to see me, and I slept on your couch.
I went to bed naked. I left bite marks and scars on your skin. I told you I loved you by not telling you I loved you and I tore the paintings off your wall.
I made you cry because I couldn’t, I made you apologize because I wouldn’t, and I pretended that nothing hurt.
sillylittlemisfit
Goddamn J, this hurts so good
I’m sorry, Chi Had to be written 😔
Yall im gonna miss obama like he was the first president i was aware abt and now someone else is gonna be elected like how tf am i supposed to move on is this how breakups feel like
sighmitch-deactivated20150131
me: mom, when’s the dinner ready?
mom: why, are you hungry?
HAHA NO MOM I NEED THAT FOR MY COLLEGE APPLICATION