Here Is What You Will Find If You Google Me
If you Google me, you will see my heartbreak splayed across your computer screen. You will see my pleas to be loved and my acceptance of change and my mourning of people who are gone.
If you Google me, you will see my heartbreak splayed across your computer screen. You will see my pleas to be loved and my acceptance of change and my mourning of people who are gone.
You’re probably going to watch an in flight movie without headphones because you won’t spring for the $2 pair they offer, and you’re going to ask your seat-neighbor what’s happening every five minutes because she was smart enough to not lose the free pair Apple provided her with. Basically you’re a monster.
If someone asks you what’s wrong and you honestly reply, ‘I don’t think my shirt looks good,’ your ugly shirt suddenly loses some of its power over you. Just by saying it out loud. Also, sometimes I think our viewers don’t realize that we are real people and we see what they say. This was just a fun reminder.
The Grinch isn’t a symbol of needing holiday cheer. The Grinch is a fictional example of every post-grad who’s hoping their phone never rings and would really dig just getting some rent money this year.
If you’ve ever hoped and wondered if there were benevolent spirits or angels watching out for us in life, this story…
Maybe it was the age, maybe it was being in high school. Maybe it was immaturity, maybe it was the improbability of young love. Maybe he had heard the rumors about me and decided to see if they were true. Maybe like every cautionary tale I had decided to ignore, once he undid those jeans and climbed on top of me he clearly had had enough.
Let’s face it, sometimes we need more than emojis to express ourselves.
There is no need to wonder about the how and the why. Because you aren’t staying; your shirt is already over your head and your shoes are sliding onto your feet. There’s no need for watching my phone because slowly but surely the screen will stop lighting up with your name. I need to stop avoiding the inevitable and let the water wash away every trace of you that is eating away at my skin.
Honestly not accepting a gift from Buddy the Elf is like taking a four-year-old to a screening of Krampus.
You are stitched together with broken promises from other girls and you’re looking to me to close off the knot. You aren’t comfortable in your decisions, in your choices, and you look to other people for validation. You thrown off by the silence between sentences and the spaces that our fingers leave when I pull my hand back to my own chest.