Mona Awad

Well. Because I love you, Bunny. Actually. You’re actually my favorite.

You’re my favorite too, I lied. But in that moment, I meant it. I meant it so much I cried.

(Is it me drowning you, Samantha, or did you wade in here of your own free will, your pockets full of black stones?)

A pause so pregnant it delivers, consumes its own spawn, then grows big with child again

It’s fine. Later on I’m going to be really fucking beautiful. I’m going to grow into that nose and develop an eating disorder. I’ll be hungry and angry all my life but I’ll also have a hell of a time.

smiling beatifically in his own antidepressant- fueled fever dream

Sometimes you have to kill your darlings, you know? In fact, that’s what we sometimes call them. Darlings.

Because you simply can’t sit back and allow your best friend to date an animal- man of your own creation and say nothing

I die inside when he says this. Recall the words, which I wrote down in another, older notebook. Scrawled it ecstatically on the lonely campus green when I was hungover after one of our first day- and nightlong escapades

We’re all waving at one another from across the great shores of the tented green.

Except Ava

That they would get tangled in each other’s Game of Thrones hair, choked by the ornate braids they were forever braiding into each other’s heart- shaped little heads. That they would choke on each other’s blandly grassy perfume.