***Please be advised that the following post may contain descriptions of self-harm that may upset certain readers.*** On my ferry ride home, I’m lulled into sleepiness by the boat’s rocking over choppy waves. Thoughtlessly, I’ve smeared ink down the page of my book. A blurry line of indigo that extended from an underline I’d marked off in the first several pages of Beauvoir’s Ethics of Ambiguity. “It is in the knowledge of the genuine conditions of our life,” the wobbly unde
So it rained that day
The day I gave it all away
And I never thought it would
When the morning looked so good Tickets were booked for California, I explained to my mother over the phone. I was calm.
"But you two looked so good together," my mother sighed over the phone. "You agreed on so many things."
I wasn't sure where to pick up from there. What made a difference, on the larger scale of things if we looked good with each other? Were we good for each other?
The officers had pulled up to shore on their little boat and stood there awkwardly--tugging bashfully at their lapels--trying to explain the situation. A testing facility, they prattled on, not safe where she was. All she knew is that Ralph wasn’t coming back, run off with his young stenographer. All she knew is that she was going to get a lovely tan on this beach and these men were standing in her sun. Some say they left Betty right where she was, perfectly happy with the id
Stories ranging from the speculative to the surreal.
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