I wrote this thing on Medium, and it has pictures and everything. How pretty.
I think sometimes of all the bad things that could happen to me. Does anybody else do this? All the ways I could be hurt, the exact level and amount I could suffer, and survive.
Oh, look, I’m on The Toast.
“A mermaid is itself a kind of sex. A moving thing, without legs.
…the banker was dreaming.
Of mermaids. Ominous how the green light looked
In my window. The sea-fog rolling in.”
Alejandro Escudé, A Moving Thing, Without Legs
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
You will find someone who loves your wildness, your pain, your past, your ugliness, your flaws, all of it. If you stay vulnerable, if you keep telling the truth about who you are without fear, you will find someone who’s trustworthy enough and strong enough to leap into the unknown with you. You will find someone who isn’t afraid. Forgive this poor guy. He is very fucking afraid.