"The truth is, what I do is I cry sometimes because I only have two hands and there are so many ways I need to be touched. What I do is I let myself explode over my fingers and then I sit enveloped in the dark like an anonymous letter. I feel guilty, too, not because I touch myself, but because I touch myself and it is not enough."
I bought your book and I realised that I havent seen much of you on tumblr and I was just making sure you were okay. I hope you have a great day and you stay awesome
Firstly, thank you for buying one of my books! Secondly, thank you even more for your well wishes. I haven’t been writing nearly as often as I’d like to in the last few months, but I’m hoping it’ll come back to me in its own time. It usually does and I’m trying to stay hopeful about it. So yes, I am okay. Not sure about the awesome part though. ;)
Truth: I am better as a concept.
#i don't know
looking like she could start a war. Annabelle looking like she’d love to. Annabelle rolling her shoulders back. Annabelle talks like she’s always gargling water. The slow spread of Annabelle’s smile while the men watch her from their bar stools. Annabelle all curves and no brake. Annabelle’s mouth like an oven we want to gas ourselves in. Annabelle has all the power and knows it. Lets her dress rise a little like it’s an accident. Annabelle invites you to worship. Face a church you get down on your knees for. What a woman. Annabelle tracing her finger around the rim of her wine glass. Annabelle is all theatre. All performance. Opening night and final exit. Annabelle keeps drawing an audience. Annabelle only has to flick her eyes to your side of the room and you’re already salivating. Annabelle puts her shoes on standing up, bent at the waist. Knows exactly what she’s doing. The art of driving men to madness. Annabelle’s not the woman whose apartment you want to sneak out of in the morning. Annabelle’s not the woman you want to marry into a perfect suburban future. Annabelle’s the woman you want to take photographs of, naked in front of a vanity mirror while she applies her mascara. Drinking coffee on a wooden porch, the camera so close up the lens fogs with steam. Annabelle’s the woman you want to watch saunter ahead of you through a forest dense as her thighs. Annabelle fills you with need, sparks like an electric fault. Annabelle knows it and will only stay so long as it hurts you to look at her. So long as you’d walk through fire to touch her. So long as you can’t get enough. Annabelle eats the hearts of men and women alike for breakfast. Licks the blood off her fingers like it’s maple syrup. Annabelle with her hands in your chest. Annabelle’s going to leave you for dead.
"I want the cottage. I want the green grass and the tomato plants. I want the peace in you; the front porch rocking chair lullaby; our cricket legs rubbing together under the covers. We can’t have it all. I know that, but humor me. We can’t have it all, but we can have most of it."
#nauseates my heart