New York Fucking City

As she rode to the Minneapolis airport, to catch a flight to New York, she felt a piece missing.

The first time she made the trip, she was a precocious high school sophomore, travelling with her family, bubbling over her stack of books and printouts with plans and ideas and sights to see.

Her next trip was after her first year of college, visiting friends interning there for the summer. Freedom! Chance! Adventure in the big city!

She’d been back a dozen times since, both for vacation and business. And today, for the first time, it felt like a chore.

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(m)orpheus

There’s a sacredness about another living thing trusting you enough to fall asleep at your side.

Be it an old lover, a new friend, a baby niece, or your arch-nemesis incarnate in your landlady’s cat, as long as they don’t fucking snore, it should be cherished as a revolutionary act of vulnerability. A license; an invitation. A conspiracy. An incitement to eavesdrop on the unspeakable secrets of their dreams.

It is the ultimate affirmation that you are not an enemy, that you alone have been chosen for the divine rite of smuggling them back into the realm of the living.