Don't Look Now, or, The Pretty Construction Worker Fumbles His Smooth

Currently, I am a feather floating down to the ground from the heights of an airplane.

And, let me tell you:

It

feels

so

good.

Let me say something, here, about the power of being treated right: My body is not on guard 24/7. There is no stress and random bleeding because there doesn't need to be.


There is only sleeping in
and kissing
and fucking
and coffee on a white bedspread in the sunlight on a Sunday morning.

(pause)

I am currently reading Tragedy: A Tragedy, the play by Will Eno that was suggested to me by uncertain yet talented lips. I am also reading the third book of a trilogy that will not be named. It is an escape. It's not that I am embarrassed. It's that I'm not quite sure I would like to endorse it quite yet. There is, I must say, the satisfying feeling of coming around the bend of the last few chapters of the last book.

Completion, in all of it forms, seems to be a theme in my life as of late.


be well; be loved,


k.

(image via bluesonplanetmars tumblr)