“You’ll not know how it is, to live among strangers for so long.”

“Won’t I?” I said, with some sharpness. He glanced up at me, startled, then smiled faintly, looking down at the coverlet.

“Aye, maybe ye will,” he said. “Ye change, no? Much as ye want to keep the memories of home, and who ye are––you’re changed. Not one of the strangers; ye could never be that, even if ye wanted to. But different from who ye were, too.”

I thought of myself, standing silent beside Frank, a bit of flotsam in the eddies of university parties, pushing a pram through the chilly parks of Boston, playing bridge and talking with other wives and mothers, speaking the foreign language of middle-class domesticity. Strangers indeed.

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

god john youre the WORST

johns is filled with a weird but neatly tagged mix of existential shit, black and white gifs, motivational quotes (that lessen as time goes on) and some really depressed personal posts (that get steadily angrier at God as they go on)