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My brain is in a mess.


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He spends weekend nights in one of two ways—one, find a room full of people getting fucked up and try to get more fucked up than all of them—or—two, find a room full of people getting fucked up and lie to one of the pretty girls until she pulls him to his room and through his bed and into the folds of her body. And then, those were those rare girls with whom he didn’t have to choose between these two things. Marley is one of them, with the wreath of smoke painted round her canary hair and her winking eyes, who is pretty enough that he just couldn’t say no to her. She barely has to say anything and he says yes and he swallows the smoke or the pills or whatever it is and then she swallows him and the room swallows them both. The weekend morning—the smell of Marley in his room sits heavier than the hangover, and he knows why they don’t make too many girls like her anymore. She eats men, bursts hearts, shakes trees, holds lit fireworks, gulps down bones, spins the world, etc, and can still manage to find all of her clothing in the dark hours of the morning and close the door behind her without making so much as a noise.


Up in the second-story bedroom, digging at each other’s body with tenderness like we were gently scooping out earth to pot delicate velvet-leafed plants. Something folded out in front of both us—a new language of romance pulling out words we never knew how to speak before it all started. We spoke to each other in looks, and in the subtly of breath and pupils, and every quiet moment spent together my blood was roaring you are she, you are her and your blood was roaring you are he, you are him.



Written by priya.balraju

August 11, 2010 at 9:07 pm

Posted in Favourites, Quotes

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