“What Can I Do if the Fire Goes Out?”
There’s the kind of grey that sucks in light like a black hole, making everything around it matte and dull. But then there’s the kind of grey that emits light and lifts rather than suppresses.
There’s the kind of grey that sucks in light like a black hole, making everything around it matte and dull. But then there’s the kind of grey that emits light and lifts rather than suppresses.
You understand intuitively why people are drawn to burned-out houses. Even grandmothers.
We know our lives here are fleeting, but it’s the sort of knowledge we don’t care to call up that often—as if mortality were a somewhat shameful secret.
The sunset memories of my teens are seared. The sunset memories of my twenties are speckled.
Now that the pre-workout has worn off enough that you can stop running to escape the impending explosion of your beating heart, pull out some weights.
I got a new car, but I don’t really get my new car.
Overhead lights were created by an evil mastermind to simulate the timelessness of a void.
It is so comforting to return to a store I could navigate blindfolded.
Someone—or something—keeps turning on the lights.
In a society where people can change classes within a generation or even a lifetime, how do individuals and groups cling to social snobbery?