Whitney, but also you.

There is a dead woman on my T-shirt, but I feel so alive when I look at her face. It’s not like I haven’t tried too. I am standing across from you, but you don’t know that I know. Maybe, maybe we all have tried at least once because there is nothing more freeing than attempting to undo oneself.

I want to tell you that most bodies are more scar tissue than celebration—

It is just too difficult to be in a building made up of isolation, break-ins, and reruns of neglect. But I also want to tell you that even the ones who left, left us something that remains.

I think boredom is what it means to be alive—existing long enough that your eyes contain a rolodex of memories.

You have time. You are not bored yet, even when you think you are. I’ve got more maps in me than your fingers have touched, so what I mean to say is: keep wandering. Stay, even just a little longer. She couldn’t. But you can.