it was nearly 4 am as red light streamed out the bar, sifting through drunk legs. it was closing time, even in new york city.
“let me take you home,” he asked; breath smelling more metallic than his eyebrow piercing.
she smiled into his swirling eyes,
and she was never seen again.
- myra
turtle neck sweaters and steaming mugs of coffee and overcast clouds and leaves of red and yellow and orange and glossy doc martens and red lipstick stains on necks and pinkie promises and crunching strolls on new york city sidewalks
her beer tasted of sawdust and foam coated her boots; nuts were bland and counter sweaty. but the air was lime fresh and the night neon young and she was free.
myra.
paris, france 🥀
« ainsi va le monde. ce n’est pas am faute »
watch the sawdust n dirt,
swirl swirl swirl
down the drain
one of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don't come home at night - margaret mead
no socks
are allowed in the red-room
no pretty pink flowers
are allowed
at the woods at night
destiny is usually just around the corner. like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. but what destiny does not do is home visits. you have to go for it. (at 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙫𝙞𝙗𝙚𝙨) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqDfqLnuSt0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
light means nothing when your mind is dark
and he sat at the oncologist waiting room as life dimmed outside
new york, new york
grand central smelt of pennies, ticket stubs, and desperation at 5:15 am.
"where're you headed?" the worker asked.
where was he headed? he didn’t realize leaving meant going away. but to go far enough to be folded into memory or far enough to be followed? would his wife search for him?
"connecticut.”
no comment; the worker printed a slip and took his money mechanically.
he needed a congratulations, deserved one for his decision. but who would congratulate a man abandoning his wife?
xxii | she/her | psychology & creative writing | desperately searching for meaning in the mundane
33 posts