scorp

Scary story. I tried, ok?

a story of a life of a girl. she was afraid to grow up.

If all the unfathomable chances and stars didn’t drift into a straight line, like an airplane runway for me to take off into their heart.

Stories are remembered more than people. That’s why I remember the saying, but not the person who told it to me.

She could recall the rush of adrenaline, the lifting motion in her stomach, the smile that graced her face after the fact. Power wasn't something easily forgotten.

Gun in hand, a dissociative sociopath like her could be up to anything.

I revel in the torment of my inability to comprehend the whole. 

My window is stupidly narrow. Whenever I smoked and couldn’t muster the twenty seconds it takes to clear my ashtray, the wind would spurt through; like an arrow through the arrowslit...

Birthday cakes and treasure hunts. Damp towels and bickering in a squeaky car. White wine and cigarettes.

The better I get, the more I yearn for what I cannot create.

I thought love was all in the shoulders. Hunched, preparing for the moment you will lunge at my neck. [...] Love and fear, as far as I knew, were the same scars.