I always get shit for using italics so much but you will take my excessive italics out of my cold dead hands because as far as I’m concerned each one of these is a completely different sentence:
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – this can be read a lot of different ways depending on context honestly. I mean it’s fine and there’s nothing wrong with it but two people could read it aloud in entirely different ways you know?
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – someone was startled and originally was just going to say ‘what’ but then they recovered and turned it into a complete sentence
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – someone’s really elongating the ‘e’ on that ‘the’ for emphasis, this person’s probably really obnoxious. although tbh they’re probably say it more like, “What. The fuck. Are you doing here?” wow what an asshole
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – this guy’s so pissed, this might be peter capaldi, i don’t know
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – this chick is at an exclusive party and her best friend just showed up without an invitation and at first she was just glad to see her but now she’s concerned
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – oh shit that bitch should have known better than to show her face here after what she pulled, it’s about to go down. actually that might have been her bestie right above this saying that right after someone said this.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – not only has someone just shown up where they don’t belong but they’re doing something weird, they’re probably a secret teenage hero and all their friends think they’re on drugs
“What the fuck are you doing here?” – all the bars in all the world and you had to walk into mine, how did you even get here, you don’t even like bars, i didn’t tell anyone about this place i just filled a cave with some beer
Everything in the forest has its season. Where one thing falls, another grows. Maybe not what was there before, but something new and wonderful all the same.
how terrifying, to be aging and girl. at 18 i was told by men that i was “the perfect age,” and i still thought it was a compliment. is it because at 20 i figured out how sharp those words were. i felt old at 21, felt like if grey hairs came and my spine cracked i was done for. how scary. i am reminded constantly by “realistic” ideas in fantasy novels that i should have five kids.
my life feels short. like it is squeezed into my twenties. like at 30 i become ghost, just another mother or hard worker or both, just another background character. like if i am not settled and making a difference by 27 i should just give up already. is this something men feel? like a clock is painted on their back, one hand warning: your beauty is something you are valued for and it is something you cannot get back.
and why was i only beautiful, i wonder, at 18 on a riverbank. i’m told often my childish face is a blessing. that i shouldn’t want to look older. one told me i was a trap falling: “you look young but you’re not” he said to me, “it kind of led me on”. am i not young?
maybe i am wrong. maybe it’s just how we all feel, getting old, like time is slipping from us. maybe men do worry that they will be alone forever if they don’t settle by thirty, maybe it’s even because they think they’ll turn ugly. maybe we all squish our lives into that incredibly young decade. what do i know. i’m still learning.
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