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On her neck, they were scratchy and itchy. She hated the way they left her feeling raw, peeled, exposed. Jason had laughed and apologized, but still rubbed his stubbly chin against her check. But now she doesn’t wake up to beard growth. The cat sniffs her cheek, twitches his whiskers, and she wakes up alone.

In the morning, I wake up. Walk into the forest. The mist stays there all day long, not just through morning. It’s like being in a horror film. I expect a giant crab to come out from the forest and drag us all into the ocean, and I’m only half disappointed when it doesn’t happen.

I think, sitting in lab with you, that maybe I’ll get smarter by osmosis. Maybe when we talk together I’ll gain your self-confidence and ability to just not give a shit. Then I think maybe that’s the sort of thing that comes with time, and I feel young and stupid.

you squeeze my head between your hands and when you kiss me, I feel like you are trying to push my temples in, make my skull collapse and my brains ooze out so then you can suck up all my most important parts in a slurping french kiss on a dark sidewalk where the city [...]

His name was Clint (as in Clint Eastwood) and he rode the fucking most tricked-out three-wheeler on the playground, with those flame decal stickers and everything. Sometimes we’d crush little red mites on concrete barrier by the sand box together, and their little bodies mushed into red star bursts on our fingertips. It was a [...]