Fuck you!!!

Fuck you, of course I did.

performative

The line for the bathroom wraps around the corner, and I get in behind a 10-foot-something girl wearing a halter top and a rainbow snakeskin miniskirt. I miss New York.

now all I’m thinking about are chicken bones and how maybe he thinks her chicken bones are sexy.

Rick And Morty that I don’t get because I don’t watch.

I lay my head down on his chest and say, “I love these freckles,” but the moment I say it, I realize I mean something else. Constellations of little brown patches scattered over him where the sun touched the harshest. Maybe I don’t really love the freckles; maybe I just love that they’re a part of him and that I love whatever parts there are of him. Long pause, he doesn’t say anything. I stop tracing the freckles on his chest and just wait for a response, but really, there is none. He just looks at me and, “Yeah.” His mouth — a hard, straight line.

“Oh! I know who you’re talking about now,”

All of that changed when @mimichelle97 accidentally ‘liked’ a photo of mine from 87 weeks ago.