Tag Archives: snippets

He sighed deeply, surrendering to his exhaustion and sinking further into me — as if he could actually go further. I smiled as he started his usual practice of placing small kisses along my back, from one shoulder to the other. His fingers intertwined with mine, squeezing. Kiss, squeeze, kiss, squeeze. I was drifting off, drifting away.

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Dear You,

You were right about grad school. I have no time. Yesterday, I sat down and was surprised that I had managed to eat AND do laundry that day. Usually, it was just the eating but I excelled and did both yesterday. You would be proud.

I barely go out. I’m not sure how you managed to have a social life at all. I don’t know how you made time for me. I think I appreciate you even more now, despite being thousands of miles away. Despite the fact that we haven’t talked in a few weeks, which will surely become months. You’ve always been too busy. I too, am too busy.

I miss you, if you can’t tell. Although we’ve left the strange purgatory that was our relationship, I miss you. And us. Whether it was watching Netflix in the comfort of your studio, or watching the game with a couple of beers, I miss that. I’ve never really liked starting over and considering I don’t have the time to, yea, I miss you.

Anyways, I need to run off to the library to study. Despite the feeling that I am always teetering off the side of a cliff, I love it here. The school, the city, the people. As you can imagine, I am still adjusting to the cold. Yesterday, it snowed for the first time. I ran outside like a little girl and felt magical as the snowflakes found their final resting place of my body. Then I quickly ran back inside since I had forgotten a coat. Although I love it here and have no regrets, I miss you.

Until next time.

Audience of One

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“Maybe deeper. Maybe in our bones.”

He spoke to me about things that I didn’t understand. Perhaps, ‘understand’ was not the right word. I understood, at the surface level; after all, I was smart, a college graduate, well-read. I understood but there was no dept to my comprehension. He dove and swam in the deepest part of the pool while I waddled in the shallow end.

I lacked all the extra schooling and education and degrees he possessed. His knowledge was refined and polished, complex and intricate. All those words and more. I lacked that. At times like these, when our talks moved from simple everyday pleasantries to theories about society and the dismantling of a capitalistic world, I found myself shrinking into a shell and wondering how I had ended up here, ended up with you.

Did I really believe you were too good for me? Too smart? Shouldn’t you be with someone who was just as accomplished, someone who also was called Dr. So-and-So?

“Maybe deeper. Maybe in our bones,” he said. He looked at me then, his eyes smoldering with the universe behind them.

“It’s got to be something, right?” I asked.

I’ve got to be something right, to have you.

Connect the Dots
White Teeth x Zadie Smith

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The first time you see him, you’re frazzled. You’re wearing your rumply work shirt and digging your hand through your backpack, trying to locate your Chapstick.

He’s effortless. Slacks, a button-down, and those circled Ray Ban sunglasses that remind you of Jon Lennon, but on him, they’re otherworldly. The beginnings of an afro accompanied by weeks-old scruff, and you are lost.

You manage to keep walking, and although you aren’t trying to make eye contact, you are. He walks past you though, his head held high and above your rumply work shirt.

You find your Chapstick.

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The Ruiner

She pulled me to the side, running her hand down my arm in a way that was anything but friendly. Her cold and calculating smile appeared and she asked, without missing a beat, “Just what are you doing here James?”

James. She knew I hated to be called that, but this was a power play, an attempt to flip the dynamic on its head. I would not be conquered.

“I was invited Elizabeth.”

Her arms folded across her chest, defensively. I willed my soul to prepare for the stab of poison that would inevitably leave her lips.

“The balls on you, James. To believe that you were actually invited to partake in the activities taking place tonight. After what you’ve done, what you’ve ruined.”

I swallowed my rage but did not venture to say anything. I wanted this over, as quick and as painless as she would allow.

“A whole future, James. You destroyed that, corrupted that with your silly promises of love and devotion. Do you think she would want to see you?”

Her eyes expected a response so I obliged her against my better mind.

“Elizabeth, the only thing that is corrupted is your soul. The only thing that is destroyed is your body. Margot asked for me to be here. So I am here. And now I will leaving the potential chaos you so longingly wish to ensue, and return to my seat.”

I turned on my heel and went back to my seat, half expecting to be tackled like a wild zebra and pummeled with punches and kicks. No such thing occurred and a dozen steps later, I planted myself in my chair, ready to watch the love of my life marry another man.

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Another Wednesday

“People are always saying that therapy is nothing to be ashamed of. Oh, everyone is a little crazy. Everyone just needs someone to vent or talk to.

Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but some people are crazy and some people don’t just need someone to just talk to, like you talk to the cashier at the grocery store. Some people need to confide their darkest secrets, their most painful truths to someone who is actually licensed to help them out.

And I can most certainly tell you that I am ashamed.

Every Wednesday, I try to walk nonchalantly towards the Psych building on campus. As I walk, I already have my story created in my mind for why I need to be over on this side of campus at this time of night.

“Oh, late night meeting, this was the only room available,” or “Oh, just dropping off something for a friend.”

All these stories are stupid and horrendous, but they are better the actual reality: “Oh, I’m headed to meet my therapist because I’m psychotic and depressed and somewhat suicidal.”

The suicidal part is more of an accessory to the psychosis and depression, but anyways, that’s not the point. I have to hide why I go to therapy because I’m my college’s student body president. Yes, please call me President Psycho.

Now, alright, you’re thinking, that’s not that big of a deal. So you’re the Student Body President. You should use your role to advocate for mental health needs on campus. You could be a role model for others. Blah blah blah…”

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