WWE, Breakup Medicine

When I was little, I used to love WWE unashamedly. Now I am older, and I have dipped my toe back into that messy pool of rippling muscles, I can appreciate the beauty even more. I think, in a way, this newfound adult shame actually makes it better.

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I’m sitting on a rough ledge, dusted white and overlooking a sheer drop. The sun is warm against my back, which is a truly unexpected kind of hug, especially here in the U.K. Wind roars past in frantic gusts, drowning out the periodic buzz of the crickets. When I catch the sound, like the spokes of a bicycle spinning as they catapult someone across the world, I think about the twisting roads that snake around these endless, sloping mountains, and how perfectly terrifying they would be to race along. 

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I was in love once.
Now I am again.
This love feels so much smaller, though,
Than the love I felt back then.

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A postcard

Dear Father McAlister

Yes that’s a star fish on my head. You know, those five fingered flesh lumps you were so eager to call ‘nonsense’ and ‘propaganda’.

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