She lit a candle over me to melt and mend my wax heart . She was the one who had Squeezed her hands around it heating up to a softness
Alright, Where The Fuck Am I
I'm debating grad school but grad school will do nothing but distract me I work to live because living is not allowed to just be
Dear Güey, I hate that we don’t talk every day. I hate it more that I do not know what we are. I keep forgetting to not take your flirting seriously, that we are 2000 miles away and at closest we were a seat away but never touching. You would never consider a long distance relationship, but we act like something open, wanting to open our mouths to each other but instead giving it to others. And we know about it. We know about each other’s love lives but never mention each other. Why? Because we do not want to admit anything. We do not want to admit that we like each other because we know it’s stupid. Insane. Crazy. In. Love.
Onions are Gross
Onions are gross You caramelize them and they’re slimy You don’t and they’re vengeful They assault you with disgust They make you cry
I can feel an itch between my shoulder blades, a heaviness in my chest, as I try to occupy my hands and mind before I give too much thought to the things I actually need to focus on. My upcoming move? No. My first time moving in with a romantic partner? No. My need for a full time job again? No. I need to pack for my move and apply to jobs. I need to apply myself to pack and pack my mind with maturity to apply to a job.
Did I abandon you first? - or have my mother’s worries shielded you from getting to me? - or did her mother’s addictions stop her from sleeping?
Choose to Forget
“Mija, did you order anything? There’s a package here for you.” “No, de quién es? Who’s it from?” “I don’t know, there’s only the initials ‘CF’ for a return address.”
A love potion is just so… archaic. I can’t afford a cauldron anyway. You can make them in a saucepan, but those just don’t hold the same weight as one made in a cauldron.