rain on roof outside window, gray light, deep covers and warm blankets. rain and nip of autumn in air; nostalgia, itch to work better and bigger. that crisp edge of autumn.
her temper was uncertain — and she was not easy, and she was not quiet, or beautiful, except in some dresses in some lights. but the great gift she had was that she understood what was said to her; there had never been any one like her for talking to. you could say anything — you could say everything, and yet she was never servile.
That was the thing about the world: it wasn’t that things were harder than you thought they were going to be, it was that they were hard in ways that you didn’t expect.
So my cousin was in a gay pride parade and everything in her outfit and makeup was rainbow but she was wearing red contacts and while marching, a protester behind her yelled “You’re going straight to hell” and she turns around to face him with her fuCKING blood red eyes and she says “well duh, I got a kingdom to run” and the protester nearly fucking passed out that is her legacy I want to be like her
I live the way I live, I eat the things I eat, and I’ll die the way I’ll die.
I am haunted by all the editions of books that are prettier than the ones I already own.