It’s one of those winter nights that makes you think about moving to Florida, telling the Midwest to go screw itself and holing up beside the Gulf for the rest of your life.
But come to think of it, to hell with that beauty. Beauty that is masked in shrouded anger is nothing worth living with.
The weight of unknowing that comes before destroying a life, a feeling like passing a new room’s threshold, head dizzy, eyes adjusting.
We live in the forest because the trees are gone. All of our shade comes from elsewhere, and it cannot stay.
Every night, she waited for Krishna as all milkmaids wait for spiritually blue-skinned men. She met him and waited and met him again.
Love is a choice, a commitment two people make to each other, and with this girl I was beginning to feel like that decision had already been made for me. What had Alternate Future Me been thinking?
Perhaps the only way kaleidoscopes can forever renew themselves is by not asking you to look into them, but by asking you to look out from them. Why not?
At first there was one god. As far as it knew, it was entirely alone in an endless expanse of nothingness.
Her body required more than his: more heat, more alcohol, more specialized treatments, and always more attention.
Bare backs, bare arms, strong scents. You haven’t touched another human being in a while. Sharing spaces imbued in aroma is intimacy.