A box, tucked away

A box, tucked away

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t even a thing, and in this moment, I am fully aware that I miss something that is not you. 

As I try to pin that down, I unpackage my own head in a manner so that after this ordeal, I may simply wrap my memories of you up so neatly that it would appear untouched. I do this carefully, but quickly, as I fear the lingering of your face in the forefront of my brain serves no justice for my heart and what it may one day ache to fawn over once more. So, like a child preserving her favorite wrappings on an early Christmas morning, I lift the tape and unfold the creases in the paper, remembering how I once boxed these contents and carefully put them away, only to unveil my thoughts now that are so deeply pressed with you. 

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Manifesting

Manifesting

The phrasing goes something like, “you summoned that,” or the obvious, “we were just talking about them.” Regardless of who or what it is, you spent time thinking about something and now it is in front of you again. Whether a good, bad, or neutral thing, how do you react to that? Do you think of it as a sign? Do you let it pass like any other countless coincidence?

These aren’t rhetorical questions—I’m super serious. I always tell myself these things are coincidence or clever marketing, but when I try to avoid a piece of my life for years, mention a name *one* time, and have apparently urged a living being to interact in my life, I don’t know what to think.

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When it broke.

When it broke.

The music was louder than normal. The lights bright, pink, and piercing through the light fog of the dance room. I was laughing like a lion and dancing how you imagine I would. It was midnight, and 30 seconds into the song before I realized what was playing. Our song.

I felt as if I was searching for something I knew I wouldn’t find throughout the night—as if you’d teleport to this bar 3,000 miles away—but now that you’ve filled my ears I regret finding you.

It was a mistake to snapchat you the scene of the dance floor even though we admitted that we wanted to talk again like nothing is different. We were more ourselves with each other than we are with anyone, but now, everything has changed.

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Love me some ‘Lover’

Love me some ‘Lover’

After binge-listening to Taylor Swift’s album, Lover, and recently learning about the Karlie Kloss – Taylor Swift (conspiracy) relationship, I’ve been blown away by some of Swift’s work. No, this isn’t just a shoutout to T-Swizzle’s songs—even if I’ve been a fan since wayyy back in the day and still know the entire rap to “Thug Story” (feat. T-Pain)—I’m impressed with how significantly her album resonates with my experience in pseudo-dating a straight girl.

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