Emily in Yellow
Marker’s Mark: It is what it isn’t.

I FIND YOUR ADVERTISING CAMPAIGN CONFUSING

Waiting for the metro is boring.

Waiting for the metro is boring.

Have a “usual” food order somewhere is actual a little more embarrassing than you’d think. It’s like, I know you know I’m not an adventurous eater, but let’s just pretend just a little for the sake of these complete strangers around us.

I saw this picture on the metro bench this morning. The edges were soft and frayed, making it obvious it had been living in somebody’s wallet as a reminder of a person who made them happy. Or maybe two people. I couldn’t say for sure. Who are these people? Lovers? Siblings? Childhood friends? It’s unclear—nothing was written on the back of the picture.

And, maybe, what I find even more interesting than the unknown relationship between the two people in the picture is what led the picture to lay discarded on a metro bench. Was it purposely left there after a break up? Was someone showing a friend their children and the image somehow fell from their wallet as they moved to catch their train? I guess nobody can really say.

I saw this picture on the metro bench this morning. The edges were soft and frayed, making it obvious it had been living in somebody’s wallet as a reminder of a person who made them happy. Or maybe two people. I couldn’t say for sure. Who are these people? Lovers? Siblings? Childhood friends? It’s unclear—nothing was written on the back of the picture.

And, maybe, what I find even more interesting than the unknown relationship between the two people in the picture is what led the picture to lay discarded on a metro bench. Was it purposely left there after a break up? Was someone showing a friend their children and the image somehow fell from their wallet as they moved to catch their train? I guess nobody can really say.

Hi internet.

Hi internet.

I forgot to wear my watch today so for all I know it’s half after deviled egg o’clock, Punctuary 78th 1912.

"Still, I can’t ignore the pull of my bookworm’s interpretation, arguing that technology is the closest human beings come to magic."

Conversations with Dad at age five.
Me: Do you promise you will?
Dad: I don't know what will happen. I can't make you that promise, beautiful.
Me: Do you promise to try?
Dad: Absolutely.
And now, as a adult, I don't make promises if I can't keep them.
We start out in identical perfection: bright, reflective, full of sun. The accident of our lives bruises us into dirty individuality. We meet with grief. Our character dulls and tarnishes. We meet with guilt. We know, we know: the price of living is corruption. There isn’t as much light as there once was. In the grave we lapse back into undifferentiated sameness.

My boss keeps inviting me to come have drinks with him and his wife and all I want to do is go home, put on my sweatpants, and eat, like, all of the leftovers.