You’ve got a sexy voice. Makes everything sound naughty.
Kishimoto, if I considered other people’s mediocre standards a sufficient metric by which to measure my own accomplishments, I’d never have amounted to anything.” He looks up, meets my eyes. “You should demand more of yourself. You’re entirely capable.
I don’t think you do, actually. In fact, I hope you don’t. I wouldn’t want you to know how I feel right now. I wouldn’t wish that for you.” That hits me harder.
Somehow I can’t help but be reminded, all the time, of my own solitude.
Instead, I’m a big, raw, bleeding heart, and I spend my days pretending not to notice that I want more. That I need more.
I feel empty, like there is nothing inside of me but this broken heart, the only organ left in this shell. I feel the bleats echo within me, I feel the thumping reverberate around my skeleton. I have a heart, says science, but I am a monster, says society. And I know it, of course I know it. I know what I’ve done. I’m not asking for sympathy. But sometimes I think – sometimes I wonder – if I were a monster – surely, I would feel it by now?
We followed the tale laid out for us, the prose pinned down in every square foot of space we’d acquired. We were content with the plot twists that only mildly redirected our lives. We signed on the dotted line for the things we didn’t know we cared about. We ate the things we shouldn’t, spent money when we couldn’t, lost sight of the Earth we had to inhabit and wasted wasted wasted everything. Food. Water. Resources. Soon.
At least I’m honest about being a liar.
For me, today was just another first day of school in another new city, so I did what I always did when I showed up at a new school: I didn’t look at people. People were always looking at me, and when I looked back they often took it as an invitation to speak to me, and when they spoke to me they nearly always said something offensive or stupid or both and I’d decided a long time ago that it was easier to pretend they just didn’t exist.
I think I might fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again.
Go to hell, Kishimoto.” “I’m right behind you, bro.” He winks at me.
I didn’t understand then that a home is not always a place. Sometimes, it’s a person.
When she’s here, right here, it’s so much easier to breathe. She’s real when she’s in my arms.
This one’s mine.” That wipes the smile off my face. “That’s right, buddy.” Kenji is grinning now. “We’re going to be neighbors.
Tangled is not a cartoon. Tangled is one of the greatest movies of all time. It’s about fighting for freedom and true love.
Juliette Ferrars, one of the most feared, most lauded heroes of our known world, is crying over a dog.
Men are always so baffled by women’s clothing. So many opinions about a body that does not belong to them. Cover up, don’t cover up – no one can seem to decide.
Believe me,” I whisper. “I do.
What a strange girl you are... to behold a rose and perceive only its thorns, never the bloom.
Was it worrisome that he felt nothing but pleasure to be held at her mercy?