One Night Stand

I met you a couple nights ago, on Thanksgiving night. I met you through Tindr. You urged me to sneak out, and bond with you. I felt lonely. It was difficult to relate to my family. Between the dry conversation and critical remarks, I could feel myself aching to leave.

I waited for you on the drive-way. It was cold, and I could feel myself shiver. I waited an hour, but then I saw the lights of your Volvo. I knew it was you, because you drove slow, as if you were looking  for someone.

You approached me.”Hi” I said, my voice shaking. “Hi,” you responded. I could already smell the alcohol on your breathe. I ran my hand down your thigh and smiled. You looked up. I could see your pupils dilate.  I knew how good it felt, and suddenly I felt thirsty. I initiated the kiss as I placed your hand on my bra.

We went back to your place. A very clean apartment. To me, it was also very dreamy. It was dreamy, because I knew I was just passing through. Like a ghost that was momentarily haunting a space until morning. The apartment was clean. You had a poster of Lana Del Rey. I liked that. I assumed you could relate to her lyrics that’s why a poster of her was up. But in retrospect, I think you probably appreciate her beauty the most.

I took my shirt off, “I feel so shy” I laughed. “You don’t look shy” you said. Your voice sounded a little smug and intoxicated. I didn’t mind. It was charming, in a stupid way. I ate up everything you told me. I bit your lip as you called me, “beautiful”. I lay closer to you, my body still cold from outside. We were shirtless. You rubbed your body closer to mine. I could feel your hard nipples against mine. It was so sensual. I wanted to make you feel good, good enough to love me. You left yellow-black bruises on my breasts.

Days later, I’m crying in the shower. Thinking to myself, “why did I feel things?” I cry as the hot water showers over me. I look into the shower head. “I hate you!” I scream. It’s an empty scream. Above all I feel lonely. Maybe the arms of strangers aren’t so sweet. It’s just saccharine.  Fake. The bruises are still there, aching and desolate.




They say that practice makes perfect. But as time goes on I’m wondering if that’s true. I like the open ended nature of this blog; I don’t exactly have to make the most sense because its all practice. Its an empty blurb that will probably go unnoticed in the internet. Its a graveyard of sorts. Anyways! I don’t crave human connection as much. Actually I have a difficult time appreciating any sort of touch. I have an important test in about a week. I saw my mentor yesterday and listened to kanye in the car. I prayed this morning.

Morning is painful

The morning after feels painful. For a moment, I thought I wasn’t alone. Now I’m more alone than before.

What is it about humans? To want to be close to someone, but also far.  Today, at 9 am, sitting at work, I’m realizing that maybe solitude is okay. And somehow the distance is a comforting blanket.

(Picture is mine)

Dreaming of sunlight

I felt good for a moment, but then the feeling drifted away. I was living in yesterday, but it was today.

Now I can speak again. I love the chaos and the mystery and Murakami. One day I want to connect to each on a higher level. But for now I’m writing/waiting on here. It’s cold out-side. This blog will probably be stream-of-consciousness, perspectives and different pop-culture infatuations. Occasionally a picture. I want to feel alive. Thank you for reading.

(Picture isnt mine)