The height from up here is dazzling. Water dancing below, quickly on tiptoes under the film of darkness. Illuminated by building lights left on by workers burning the oil that belongs to the ticking clock of midnight. She is like a dancer, this body of water, and this body is no one’s. She is majestic inherently and she loves us all unconditionally. Drowning us with her affections, affectionate against her motives we sink. We won’t come to our senses until it’s far too late to be saved; and naturally, our savior was born in a time where bridges did not exist to carry us across safely. And our safety was born in a time where we hailed leaders picked by gossiping men wearing robes. And the salt of the sea has dried to the legs of women we have chosen to love and continue to let our Name live on. This is how I feel about you, darling. All of this nonsense and more. Let your name live in mine.
I’m on the Brooklyn Bridge and she’s daring me to say I love you.
She had a stillborn.
Two months ago.
And not much has changed since. The crib is kept where it had been left and Mark doesn’t talk about it but he still remembers, she thinks. He doesn’t enter the baby’s room—Margaret.
That is her name.
—was—
That was her name. The days are still consistent with the sun’s evolution and the rain does not even feel right on her pale skin. Although, she figures, nothing has the same weight as it used to. Mark hasn’t entered the room since the incident and she fears that he’ll never quite recover. Never really want to have kids. No one would want to have their heart broken in the same fashion; nobody except lovers. And that was another thing—she recalls—their love doesn’t feel the same. It feels strained. It feels wet and twisted like that of a towel poised to be whipped. It feels frayed, she says aloud to the empty nursery.
While Mark is at work she does everything she can to avoid Margaret’s room but usually—around noon—her reserve crumbles and she finds herself in the rocking chair singing lullabies to her shadow. When she hears the garage door raise she scurries out like a mouse finding the exit in a maze. She doesn’t think that Mark would mind—her in there for hours, he’d understand—but she doesn’t want him thinking that she is weak.
Because she is strong.
And today, the sun is shining and hot on her face as she walks to the park.
Laaaaadies, nerds like us do exist. And we are waiting for you.
In the backseat of your car (bought by your dad).
I haven’t been on recently and here are some reasons:
1)
I have friends! Who’d have guessed!? Not me for sure. But surprisingly, every once in a while someone takes pity on me jk lol who am I kidding I am the belle of the ball! But in all seriousness, I have been spending time with friends that I did not get to see during classes. Pictured here is my friend dearni.
2) 
I have been exploring this city during the hours where no one is awake except for other adventurers like myself. And it’s weird being awake when the city is fast asleep. You can hear more, farther it seems. The joggers slapping their feet rhythmically against the pavement; it sounds like a lullaby for the hardworking. Sometimes walking around with no one to follow you is the best kind of medicine.
3) 
Also, I have just really been loving staying up suuuuper late and not having to worry about sleeping through classes or life really. Because during the summer if you’re not staying out until four in the morning and sleeping till two in the afternoon then what are you even doing?
4) 
Some of you may know my one friend. Our ravishingly great friendship closely rivals Brangelina’s relationship; except adopting all those kids. And being famous. Also, blame The Avengers. Oh, and The Dark Knight Rises, too. Mostly, everyone but me is to blame here. Especially summer. Summer is so at fault she should be behind bars.
I am resigned to think that once my summer slows down I will find time to write. But for right now, I think it’s time for me to just be 22 and have three easy months to just live.
Vernon.
P.S. I’m collabing with the wonderfully brilliant Timothy Gagnon and we should have something epic ready for your beautiful eyes by next week. Get ready. Beach ready.
tighten your fingers around my waist until i stop stirring,
and listen to the white lies i’m sauteing,
transparent as children role-playing,
i’m the record needle at the bottom of a kiddie pool.
pots of black sludge of far off nations,
gathered by diligent souls i never have the pleasure of -
i deny all swirling white - as is in greater frames -
forcing myself to pretend i am above it.
a stuttering crescendo overwhelms me,
my heart grows great black quill,
and percussion dictates my ascent,
my veins shutter like oil paints on speakers capable of deafening
those on the far side of the Atlantic:
distorted repetition, my flights accompaniment.
Yo! This guy is a good friend of mine here in the IC. He is also a really great writer! So get off reddit and follow this guy now. Enjoy his words. He’s here to stay.
