liberation, loss, some love letters
what a year, sis. it’s one we did and didn’t see coming – a year of planned milestones and unanticipated hard lefts, as we recalibrated our careers, our bad habits, our notions of what we want.
it strikes me we’ve been trafficking in polarities, where weekendlong sorority sleepovers met hours spent mining the realities that accompany age. we pretended we were younger, had different names, fewer questions – and then woke up grateful for the shades of grey we occupy.
Read Moreto be your friend is to feel like I’m perennially on the inside of a delicious secret. we traffic in knowing glances, hands held, laughter moored to hilarious somethings and sometimes very little; somehow the source never seems to matter. people say ‘what’s going on between you two?’ and the answer is ‘nothing.’ or maybe everything. who knows? It’s an essence, and it’s ours. ⠀
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you brim with soulful sensitivity and an appreciation for small pleasures, my partner in losing it when the beat drops – in that weird warehouse, on a strip of palm-punctured sand, astride some leonard or another – or before a well-stocked erewhon bev case.
